The Power of Trust
by Cyberwraith9
Summary: Things have settled down between Kim and Ron just in time for a new threat to arise.  Mysteries of the Ancient East are revealed, and all hope rests with an unlikely hero.  Old friends and new enemies galore! Part Two of The Power Trilogy! Completed
1. We're Back!

_All-Purpose Disclaimer_

Kim Possible is a registered trademark of Disney Inc. All characters, locations and themes are used without permission. The work below is a fan work done for personal amusement and as a pathetic bid for attention, and garnered no profit. The following is entirely fictitious. Any resemblance to any peoples, alive or deceased, is purely coincidental.

That being said...

The following is a true story. Everything in here really happened, even the confusing parts that contradict other parts. Kim Possible is actually real, as is Ron and his gelatinous naked mole rat. They're waiting for you right now at Bueno Nacho. Better hurry, or you might miss them. Oh, but review before you head out. Kim told me to tell you that. She wants you to review the story. Really.

_The Boring Author Part_

Well, you were all patient, and I don't intend to disappoint. Here it is, the (apparently) much-anticipated sequel to The Power of Love. I hope you all enjoy, 'cause this one's for you.

**Kim Possible**

**The Power of Trust**

_by Cyberwraith Nine_

_**Somewhere in the Himalayas...**_

Mountain peaks jutted high into the sky, stabbing into swirling clouds. From a distance, the landscape seemed an endless field of daggers, eternally reaching for the heavens above, yet doomed to never tower quite high enough. Earthen daggers capped with white, the frozen tears of the earth, they were a thousand fold more dangerous than any mere knife forged by the hand of man. These were the blades of the Almighty, cast in unyielding stone. To the unaware, their wrath was terrible and swift.

Outside, the snowstorm raged with impossible bluster, billowing white powdery death that obscured the landscape from view, leaving only a sallow curtain to be seen in every direction. It felt as though God's icy breath itself fell from the heavens and tore into the ageless spires of stone and ice that had stood for countless eons. Despite the ferocity of the storm, they would continue to persevere. The same could not be said for any living soul unfortunate enough to be caught out in the storm.

But sitting not ten feet from the storm, a group of black-clad figures paid no mind to the unparalleled fury of nature's wrath. Illuminated by a single, flickering candle, the dozen sat on the cold stone ground with their legs crossed and their hands raised in deep meditation. The mountain they were currently in could have transformed itself into a volcano, and they might not have noticed, so great was their concentration.

Though each of the figures was clad in identical black robes and hoods, one stood out from the rest. This special individual was in the center of a circle composed of the other eleven, hunched over a small stone statuette. Though those in the circle remained quiet, the figure's low voice was uttering a constant stream of an unidentifiable language, spoken too quietly for anyone even familiar in the dead tongue to discern. Only the robed figure and the statue sitting at hand could hear.

The figure's sleeves raised, caressing the smooth, worn lines of the stone monkey. Rough, calloused hands ran across the inanimate creature's shrieking face, gentle as a lover's touch. Slowly, trembling, the figure stopped at the monkey's fangs, and pressed hard into its mouth. A drop of blood welled up from the figure's thumb and dribbled between the statue's jaws. The red droplet hung there for an achingly long second, teetering on the brink before sliding down the monkey's lip and trailing down its little porker potbelly.

As the blood ran its course, the eyes of the monkey came aglow with a soft crimson radiance that burned two more points of light into the darkness of the cave. The figure's breath drew in sharply as the skin of the stone monkey swallowed the trail of blood, absorbing it and leaving its surface once again a pristine grey. Though the blood was gone, the glow persisted, despite the oppressive black held at bay by their single, pitiful candle.

The figure gently cupped the stone monkey with trembling hands, raising it to the darkened and faceless hood. The monkey seemed to stare back with its now-red eyes in cold silence. But at the same time, those two specks of light spoke volumes to the figure.

"It...it worked." The utterance was quiet with astonishment as the cloaked individual rotated the monkey before a shadowy face. "It worked!" Quickly, the figure rose, hoisting the statue aloft. One of the sleeves of the figure's robes fell away, revealing a whitish-pink arm topped with a fine, thick coat of black fur. "The Idol of G'dall has been awakened!"

At once, the eleven of the circle stood up and began leaping and shrieking excitedly. Their tails flickered back and forth and their fangs foamed behind stretchy black masks. They weren't nearly as tall as their leader, and were not nearly as powerful. And yet, they represented a portion what their vaunted sensei sought so desperately to become.

The focus of their excitement, the Idol of G'dall, didn't share their exuberance. It sat peaceably in the leader's hairy-knuckled grip as the gathered troupe celebrated their success, competing against the roar of the storm outside with their own cries. For a time, they were victorious. But in time, their excitement faded, and the figure waved the gathered throng back into silence, once again asserting the dominance of storm's constant bass howl.

"My monkey warriors," the figure spoke in that same low tone, spreading arms wide to encompass the short yet fierce soldiers. "Our time is fast approaching. With the Idol of G'dall active, we need only secure the last remaining piece of our puzzle and claim the glory that destiny has assured us!"

The monkey ninjas howled in approval, leaping high and pounding their fists against the floor. Unseen in the candlelight, the figure's lips pulled back in a smile before continuing.

"We will achieve what so many have sought for countless centuries," the figure proclaimed, waving the idol before them as if to bless each ninja with this promise. "What too many pretenders already possess, we shall take for our own!"

Another shriek of support.

"We shall claim the powers of the Ultimate Monkey Master for ourselves!" Their unified roar reached its crescendo as the figure lofted the idol high, nearly crushing it against the ceiling of the cave. "And together, WE SHALL RULE!"

A sudden blast of icy wind invaded their sanctuary, snuffing the tiny candle out in a heartbeat. Only the twin pinpoints of red light remained. They glowed malevolently, piercing the black veil where nothing else could. The figure could sense brief panic in some of the monkey ninjas, but it would quickly pass. When the storm cleared, they would make their way down the mountain and begin the completion of their lifelong quest. The power of the ancients was nearly in their grasp.

Who could possibly stand in their way?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

**HALFWAY AROUND THE WORLD**

With a vicious thud, Ronald Stoppable slammed into the padded mat of Upperton University's martial arts room's floor. Air rushed from his lungs as the compressed like a cheap accordion, while at the same time, a sound reminiscent of the same instrument gargled from his throat at the impact.

Leaving a streak of sweat in his path, Ron slid to a slow halt on the red and blue checkered mat. The vinyl squealed beneath a triangle of bare skin left exposed by his white wraparound gi, leaving the flesh rubbed a raw red that matched the color of his desperately-inhaling face. His feet hung just above his head, swaying to and fro from his sudden and unexpected trip through the air.

"You weren't expecting that, were you?" Nearly three yards away, a smug redhead similarly dressed placed her hands on her hips and leaned back, basking in the glory of her own handiwork. Normally, Kimberly Anne Possible didn't delight in inflicting pain, and especially not where her best friend of who-knew-how-many years. But on some deep and petty level, she figured he deserved it for shooting his mouth off about his 'mad-crazy skillz'.

Prying his lips out of a joint between mats, Ron rolled over and onto his back. He was content to converse with Kim while staring at the ceiling. The 'really' witty comebacks would wait until he had refilled his lungs. "Obviously not," he huffed, "Or I wouldn't have ended up being tossed like a sack of potatoes."

"Look, Mr. 'Karate-Class-In-Japan'," Kim made quotes with her fingers and smirked at him, "Don't get snippy with me. I wasn't the one who left myself open for that flawlessly-executed, brilliantly-conceived hip throw." But despite her criticism, Kim walked over and extended a hand to help Ron up. "You might also want to note that I wasn't the one-"

"Tossed like a sack of potatoes," Ron finished with a roll of his eyes. "I already said that."

Kim pretended to be hurt. She withdrew her offered arm and folded it with her other across her chest, pouting her lower lip out with a ridiculous expression. "Fine, be that way." A smile soon replaced her faux-sulking, and she waggled her eyebrows at him. "You can get up on your own then."

His legs flew up and over his head as he twisted to the side, rolling off his shoulder and back up onto his feet in one smooth motion. A grin of his own met with her silent, clearly smothered approval. "Why, yes I can. Yay for me."

"Smart ass," Kim sneered playfully.

Feeling his cheekiness return, Ron shot back, "Well, some part of me had to be."

"Shut up and fight."

The impromptu conversation ran dry as they circled each other, testing the other's defenses with a feint or a jab every once in a while. Not for the first time, Kim found her eyes running up and down the long chasm now sported on Ron's athletic chest that peered out from the folds of his gi. They had been working out together for some time now, ever since Ron had gotten back from his summer in Japan to 'brush up on the basics' before college started.

Apparently, he had also visited a local dojo, or something, because he brought back with him an amazing new boost in confidence and fighting ability, and the physique to match it. The baser part of Kim mourned the fact that, while much of Ron had changed, his dress style hadn't, disallowing her any real good look at just how deep that physique went.

Suddenly Ron's fist was grazing her cheek, and it was all she could do to duck out of the way. 'Sloppy, Possible,' she chided herself silently, glowering at the smug look on Ron's face. While she was busy imagining herself ogling her best friend, he was going to wipe the mats with her. If someone had told her a year ago that she would end up attracted to her best friend, she would have laughed herself into a coma. But she couldn't help noticing the enticing way his now-longer blond hair brushed over his eyes, which held a constant twinkle she had always known about, but never really looked at.

Another blow, this one a blinding front-snap kick, neatly knocked Kim out of her revere and almost forced the wind out of her as Ron's foot sailed past her arms and tapped her in the belly. His control was excellent, giving the hit just enough force to pull her back to reality. 'Damn it,' she swore silently as she watched the silent laughter pass across his chocolate-brown eyes, 'What are you going to do; sit here and stare at him, or fight?'

Then a thought occurred to her, prompting a devilish smile. 'Maybe I can do both.'

"You seem distracted, KP," Ron teased her gently, coming in with a chop that she easily blocked and moving back to a safe distance. "Am I really that boring?"

She smiled, trying to cover the slight trace of red that filled her cheeks as she prayed he mistook her staring at him for simple focus. "You know me, Ron," she lied, "My mind's a million places at once."

"Not me." Ron ducked beneath a hook kick and came back with an uppercut, brushing against the red locks of her bangs. "All I can think about is a big ol' burrito from Bueno Nacho after this."

"Always food with you," Kim taunted as she waited patiently for an opening. It took a few seconds before she saw it, feinting high with a roundhouse kick, then stepping in quickly to lock arms with him, once again hip-to-hip. "I think all that fast food is making you soggy around the middle."

Now it was Ron's turn to mock her with a pout. "You think so?" Luckily, he was too focused on her eyes and grinning features to notice her quick hands at work.

"One way to find out."

To Ron's surprise, Kim pulled back quickly, grabbing a fist full of his oversized sleeve as she went. Ron quickly felt himself spun about as the heavy cotton folds of his clothes betrayed him, peeling away at Kim's forceful yank, forcing him about like a strange yo-yo. By the time he regained his balance, he saw his best friend clutching his uniform top in one hand and raising her fingers to her mouth for a wolfish whistle with the other. He also felt a curious breeze, and looked down.

She wadded the garment up and tossed it out of the way. "Aw, no gut. Guess someone's been doing his sit-ups." Kim's light tone and scornful words barely masked the awe pounding in her brain as she looked at the hard lines of Ron's body. Where once he had been a skinny, if somewhat doughy teenager, now there wasn't an ounce of fat on his body. His stomach was outlined in a sextuplet of hard muscles, drawing her eyes up to his powerful chest and defined arms. He was no bodybuilder, as he had been under the influence of that stupid Hench ring, but instead built like a judo assassin; sleek, wiry, but fast and powerful.

No stranger to public exposure, Ron's face nevertheless went red at her whistle. He crossed his arms over his chest and turned away, trying desperately to force the blush out of his cheeks before facing his secret crush once more. "C'mon, Kim, I-"As he turned back, he only barely avoided the flying side-kick aimed straight for his jaw, and ducked as Kim sailed overhead. "Hey, no fair!"

"All's fair in love and war, Ron," Kim replied, catching Ron off-guard with a reverse kick as soon as she landed. He stumbled back from the blow as she moved into press her advantage.

'So which is this?' Ron thought to himself. Deciding it was time for some payback, he sidestepped her latest attack, allowing her to pass by harmlessly. Then he moved in and caught her from behind. His hands moved like lightning, striking in dozen places in just a handful of seconds. It was all Kim could do to block him. The strikes came so close that she could feel the breeze blowing off of his knuckles.

Then, just as Kim began to catch up, Ron simply disappeared. An instant later she felt a pair of arms loop beneath her armpits and meet behind her head in a full nelson lock. Ron's voice muttered comically in her ear, "How do you like them apples, KP?"

Trying to ignore the way his bare chest felt pressed up against her through her gi, Kim kept her own bravado firmly in place. "Oh please," she snorted, "This is the easiest one in the book." Her tense muscles immediately relaxed as she allowed gravity to pull her straight down. Kim slipped right out of Ron's grasp-

-and right out of her gi.

Kim gasped in surprise, rolling away. The vinyl mat was cold against her shoulder and back as she leapt to her feet, already a few yards away from Ron in case of another attack. She shouldn't have bothered; Ron was almost doubled over with laughter, clutching the top to his stomach in case it should split with his guffaws. Kim hadn't even noticed him untying her gi, and couldn't imagine how he had done it. Clearly, Ron was a lot faster than he let on.

Regaining his voice, Ron wiped the tears from his eyes as he tossed her gi next to his. "What was that about all being fair, KP?" he laughed. His eyes roamed about her exposed flesh of their own accord...not that he would have stopped them even if he could. From the taught lines of her tummy to her black sports bra which concealed her modesty (and Kim had quite a bit to be modest of, he silently noted), to the graceful curve of her neck and the smooth lines of her collarbone...this was easily the best training match they had ever done, period.

Kim crossed her arms over her chest and blushed furiously, just as Ron had a moment ago. Though she scowled something fierce, there was amusement dancing in her jade eyes. "Oh, you're dead now, Stoppable."

"Bring it on, Possible." Ron grinned. He adopted a fighting stance, then swiveled his wrist and waved her in with mocking fingers. Now that they were on equal footing, his confidence had returned. Now, if only her exposed flesh wasn't so distracting...

With another grin, this one twisted with a fearsome giyup from the back of her throat, Kim launched herself in a flying side-kick that nearly took Ron's head clean off his shoulders. He rolled beneath and came up just in time to catch a furious flurry of blows from the redhead's tiny, bony knuckles.

"Wha'sa matter, Ron?" Kim asked between jabs and kicks, "Am I too much for you?"

Ron budgeted his attention to allow for a brief smile as he blocked each one of her strikes. There were several openings that he didn't take. Likewise, there were at least three different kinds of sweep kicks he could use that he knew she wouldn't expect, but he held them back. He could have caught her arms and had her on the ground in a heartbeat, but for the moment, he was content to block, and watch. "You know me, KP," he grunted, pretending to strain. "Always at least three steps-"

Something exploded in the back of Ron's mind. It was like a twelve-story-tall warning beacon blaring louder and brighter than anything he had experienced before right behind his eyes. There was only the strong, unshakable belief that something devastatingly bad had just happened, and it was coming to bite him square in the ass. It flashed only an instant, but lowered all of Ron's defenses. Then it was gone.

And then there was pain.

Kim, unaware of Ron's dilemma, continued her assault. Ron had been performing admirably (heck, he was amazing!) up to this point, so backing off didn't even occur to her. So when she came in with a roundhouse punch, Ron dropping his guard and gaping like a moron was the last thing she expected from him. But that's exactly what happened.

Ron's head spun like a top as Kim's fist landed a bone-jarring blow right on his jaw. The rest of his body soon followed, pirouetting him into the air and then down onto the mat with a dull thud. For a moment, he simply lay there, trying to collect his jumbled thoughts. He was only aware of two things; the memory of the powerful explosion of foreboding, and the throbbing pain in his mouth.

"Oh my God! Ron!" Kim was immediately at his side, rolling him over so his face wasn't buried in the thinly padded floor. All the arrogance and amusement in her attitude vanished as she looked into Ron's dilated, spinning eyes. She winced at the growing purple blob on his cheek, and prayed that there wasn't any lasting injury. "Ron, I'm so sorry! I'm-"

His auburn eyes suddenly focused in on Kim, returning to normal as he found himself back in the here and now. Slowly, the panicky redhead and the distant ceiling separated themselves from the large, swirling blob that had been his vision a second ago. Though it hurt, he managed a small smile for her benefit. "I think you knocked a few fillings loose, KP."

Kim's relief was as immediate as her concern. "Thank God you're all right," she sighed, lifting his head and hugging him tightly.

As his face was pressed into her shoulder, part of Ron silently wished she smelled a little better. Another part told that first part to shut the hell up, and immediately enjoyed the warm feeling of her flesh pressed to his.

Realizing their mutual state of undress, Kim released Ron and hoped she wasn't blushing. She helped him to his feet. "I think that's enough for one day. Does your jaw feel up to a trip to Bueno Nacho before we head home?"

Her tone was light, but Ron could detect the subtle hint of worry behind it. "You have to ask?" he laughed, ignoring the dull ache that burned at his freckled face.

"What were you thinking back there, dropping your guard like that?" Kim asked as she picked up her discarded gi and wrapped it around herself. She tossed Ron his own gi, then tied the strings of hers.

Ron caught the gi. His eyes were drawn to the pristine fabric. It was white, like...like snow.

Snow.

Where did that come from?

Pushing the odd sensation aside, Ron shrugged and slipped into the coarse cotton folds of the top. "Guess I just lost focus for a second. No big."

But despite his words, he couldn't help but feel as though the feeling hadn't been a fluke. Something told him that it was a sign of something very big. Very big, and very dangerous.

**To Be Continued**


	2. This Seems Familiar

All-Purpose Disclaimer  
  
Kim Possible is a registered trademark of Disney Incorporated, its subsidiaries, and anyone else smart enough to cut into a piece of that pie on the ground floor. All characters, locations, trademarks and themes are used without permission. The following is a fan-driven work of puerile refuse, eloquently woven and masterfully executed though it might be. No money was accepted, given, or exchanged. Though, if it comes up, I prefer small bills.  
  
Kim Possible The Power of Trust  
  
by Cyberwraith Nine   
  
Peace. Harmony. Tranquility. Despite the hectic and often dangerous life of a martial artist, these were the three goals of such an existence. Countless hours of training the body, honing the mind, and forging the spirit, all for the purpose of combat, led toward the ultimate and misleading goal of supreme, sublime serenity, both spiritually and secularly. And it was within the sanctuary of his meditation chambers, the most isolated spot atop Yamanouchi, that the Sensei sought such serenity.  
  
He was seated atop a simple mat of woven river reeds, his legs crossed in the lotus position with his hands resting comfortably on his knees. The wizen, wispy moustache and beard hiding his features rose and fell atop his chest in a steady beat set to silent drums. The universe revealed itself to him in new and exciting ways as he came closer and closer to nirvana. Senses apparent in every human, yet known only to a handful, opened themselves to a new stream of sensations. The cosmos sang to him, and he listened, both appreciative and humble that they might bestow their gifts upon him.  
  
Then, softly at first, but with greater urgency, he felt a slight disturbance. It came from the shadows, cloaked in the dark, but attempting to reach him nonetheless. Through his new senses, he could see a black claw reaching for him...a claw covered in fur, with jagged nails and rough, leathery skin. It stretched, undulated, clawed its way toward the Sensei...  
  
No. Not to him. To something nearby.  
  
Cracking a single eye, the Sensei allowed light to seep into his still sharp eyes. The only other object in the room, save for a small bowl of incense burning near his feet, was a pedestal erected in the corner of the tiny space. A long case of glass and polished wood sat atop the lone pedestal, containing their ultimate treasure. And at the moment, the box was quivering at the hands of an unseen force.  
  
At once, the presence became familiar to the Sensei. "Hello, my student," he spoke aloud to the empty room, knowing full well that the presence could hear him.  
  
'Silence, old fool,' the shadows whispered back to him. 'You are powerless to stop me. The Blade will be mine!'  
  
"I will agree with the former, my student," the Sensei nodded agreeably, "But it would seem that the latter has yet to be decided, yes?"  
  
A frustrated howl reverberated in the tiny space as the box began to shake more violently. The pedestal tilted to and fro, threatening to tip and fall if just an ounce more of power was to come into each invisible push. 'You miserable wretch!' the shadows cursed Sensei. He could almost hear them spitting at his name, though obviously there was nothing to see. 'Always, you stand in my path to righteousness! ALWAYS!'  
  
"I did nothing of the sort," Sensei retorted calmly. He had yet to move, though his school's treasure was teetering on the edge of its platform. "I merely allowed destiny to take its course. You could yet serve your own destiny, should you choose."  
  
'To hell with destiny, and to hell with you, old man!' Sensei could hear a terrible strain in the shadows' voice as, flying in the face of Sir Isaac Newton, the wooden box lifted into the air, hovering several inches above its pedestal. 'I will possess the powers of the Master! I WILL be the Chosen One!'  
  
"The Jade Monkeys are gone. Their power belongs only to three, now." As if to prove Sensei's point, the box took a dangerous dip before the unseen force holding it aloft yanked it back into the air. "Your fruitless quest will destroy you."  
  
'Do I detect a hint of fear in your voice, Sensei?' Though grunting and heaving, the voice still mocked the old man mercilessly. 'You fear my success, just as you always have.'  
  
The Sensei's head drooped to his chest as his heart flooded with sadness. "No, child," he sighed. "I fear only that I have failed to teach you properly. I have failed my own d-"  
  
'NO!'  
  
At first, Sensei simply thought the shadows were disagreeing with him. Then he saw the cause of their distress; the box held in the air finally gave way to gravity, and plunged the several feet onto the cold stone floor. Glass and wood shattered into a thousand different pieces and scattered in as many directions, leaving only their contents intact. The sound of metal on stone scraped loudly in Sensei's ears as a simple, silvery blade slid to rest at his feet. Reaching out, he sought the presence he had felt, but it was now gone. He was one again alone.  
  
A moment of quiet contemplation later, Sensei's domicile was invaded by a large, broad-chested warrior in a black gi. He sported an abnormally trendy haircut and narrow, dark eyes that were usually half-lidded with arrogance that Sensei sometimes found disturbing. However, his eyes were now wide with distress as he entered the room. His wooden sandals crunched against the broken glass as he skidded to a halt, taking only a brief moment to bow in deference to his master.  
  
"Sensei, are you harmed?" he panted in a panic. "I heard a crash, and then..." His voice trailed off as he examined the remains of the case, and its contents sitting at Sensei's feet. His quickened breath immediately ended in a gasp as he murmured, "The Lotus Blade!"  
  
Sensei held a hand up to keep the boy from doing anything rash. "Peace, Hirotaka. All is well...for the moment." His twinkling eyes soon turned downward in a deep scowl. With wrinkled hands, he scooped the mystic blade up and held it tenderly, examining its crisp, flawless lines. "However, all will not remain well if we do not take action."  
  
With another bow, Hirotaka silenced his hysterics. "What would you ask of me, my master?"  
  
"Announce to the Elders that I wish to hold a council." With a moment's thought, he added, "And inform Ms. Akamatsu that I wish to see her in private." He looked into his reflection's eyes with deep thought as the beginnings of a plan formulated in his mind. "I believe it is time we had a chat with an old friend of ours."  
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
A lumpy, pasty smile composed of a soggy burrito and a pair of salsa dollops gazed dully at Kimberly Anne Possible from her Bueno Nacho tray as she stared sullenly into the puke brown tabletop. Rain spattered onto the greasy window next to her booth, streaking the campus surroundings of Upperton's State University campus into a mishmash of dark colors. Abnormally warm for a mid-December afternoon, the pelting precipitation was nonetheless freezing to the touch, so much so that she could feel the cold radiating from the glass near her bare, strapless shoulder.  
  
"Girlfriend!" A spry, sly and stylish young vision of beauty slid into the booth bench opposite the redhead, wearing a broad white smile rimmed with sultry red that stood out from her chocolate complexion. Despite the season and the weather, she was dressed in a short burgundy skirt and a black baby-doll that showcased a figure renowned for turning more than a couple of heads. "What are you doing here so early? You were supposed to meet me for debriefing an hour and a half from now!"  
  
Kim's jade gaze rose from the smirking burrito and locked in on Monique. She had been rehearsing this encounter ever since the 'unpleasantness' almost an hour ago; in many scenarios, she had leapt across the table and proceeded to beat the tar out of her best girlfriend. In others, she burst into tearful confession. But now that it had come up, Kim was a little surprised to find herself taking a more straightforward approach. "Hey Mon..." she grunted.  
  
Monique's smile immediately flipped. She leaned in, examining Kim carefully. The teen heroine was dressed for success in a deep green halter top that matched her eyes, with a light blue button-down sweater (unbuttoned at the moment) and a dark, long navy skirt. Kim's lips were painted up with a color of Monique's own choosing, from her private stock no less, and her eyes were lightly shadowed with a trace of sparkling emerald to give her a mysterious air. At the moment, though, there was no mystery about her; she was down in the dumps, so far down it was a wonder she didn't stink. "You okay?"  
  
Taking a deep breath, Kim said, "Mon, you know I love you, right?"  
  
"Friends 'til the end, girl." Monique agreed readily.  
  
"Then don't take this the wrong way when I say that you will never," she sliced a decisive hand through the air, "Ever, ever set me up on a date again."  
  
"Kim, what happened?"  
  
"Under no circumstances."  
  
"Kim-"  
  
She wasn't even listening. "If the gods came down and said, 'Kim Possible, we hereby commandeth thee to high thee hence unto a date of Monique's choosething,' I would look them right in their godly eyes and say 'No sir!'."  
  
"Kim!"  
  
Kim looked up, her rant brought to a halt by Monique's snappish tone. "Yes?"  
  
"Tell me. What. Happened." Monique brushed back a stray lock of hair from her eyes as she leaned in with a mixture of curiosity and annoyance. "I swear, you're as bad as Ron sometimes with the melodrama."  
  
"Number one, I am so not." Kim waved her off. "And number two, after what happened, I have the right to put on a whole production, complete with special effects' budget and a cast of Hollywood's finest."  
  
"WHAT HAPPENED?!" Monique leaned forward and grabbed the lapels of Kim's sweater, stretching the fabric as she shook the redhead furiously. Once she had gotten Kim's attention, she seemed to settle down a little. She wanted the dish on Kim's date, but there was obviously something wrong. "Did everything...?"  
  
"Oh, it was fine at first," Kim spilled with a sardonic roll of her eyes. "He was a perfect, charming gentleman all through dinner. Then we got to the movie theater. After the previews started rolling, he decides to play 'David Copperfield'."  
  
Monique frowned, confused. "I...don't follow."  
  
Kim waggled the digits of one hand as she tugged at the hem of her halter top with the other. "He thought he had 'magic fingers'."  
  
"He didn't." Monique deadpanned.  
  
"Sure as hell tried." A pinkish embarrassment seeped into Kim's ivory cheeks at the memory. She wasn't exactly fresh from the apple cart, but nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Previously, she had only imagined her reaction to such an advance. Now that it had happened, Kim was at least pleased to discover that no matter the situation, her instincts wouldn't let her be taken advantage of.  
  
Monique pulled back with a snort. "Ooh, when I get my hands on that boy..."  
  
Kim blew on her reddened knuckles. "Been there. Clobbered that." A large bite out of her burrito helped to quell the churning anger plaguing her innards. Thanks to a decade and a half of subtle culinary influence from a certain fiesta-fanatical friend, Mexican food had become an intense source of comfort for her. And a date that bad called for no less than two injections of spicy, beefy consoling.  
  
"Well," Monique intoned glumly as she unwrapped a Cheesy-Changa, "Maybe your next date'll be better."  
  
A small moan worked past the mass of cheese and beans dominating Kim's mouth. She slapped her burrito onto the bland brown tray with a grunt of disgust. "I don't want another date, Monique. I don't want to play the field. I just..." With a sigh, she poked at the food, no longer hungry. "I just want to meet the right guy, that's all."  
  
Monique's eyebrow quirked as she swallowed her bite. "So, you want the perfect guy, but you don't want to go looking for him?"  
  
"He doesn't have to be perfect!" Kim protested defensively. "Just...almost perfect, is all." Even Kim had to admit that she sounded lame. Super-lame, even.  
  
"Enlighten me, please." Offered a generous and very amused Monique.  
  
Kim fidgeted at the query, lowering her eyes and flushing at the cheeks. "Well," she started uneasily, "He has to be kind. And brave, too." Nervous at first, Kim found the words more easily as she gained momentum. She leaned her chin on her palm as an image began forming in her mind. "He can make me laugh no matter how cruddy my day's been. And he has a great smile."  
  
"Is he a looker?" Monique did nothing to hide the smirk on her face. She grinned openly at Kim's dreamy expression. It wasn't every day she saw the world's greatest teen hero this vulnerable or honest.  
  
"Monique!" Kim tried her best to sound offended. "Looks aren't important, you know that!"  
  
"...and?"  
  
Kim's face broke into a defeated smile. "He doesn't have to be a model," she admitted. "I sorta see him with kind of...subtle good looks. Like you'd have to look more than once to see just how special he is. A real diamond in the rough."  
  
"Won't that halo muss up his hair?" her friend teased.  
  
Monique received a withering glare for a response. "Hardy-har-har. I'm serious!" Kim's green eyes flashed, then dulled as she sunk toward the table. Her chin bumped a burrito as she gloomed, "But you're probably right. Where'm I gonna find a guy like that?"  
  
"RON!"  
  
A glorious cheer rose up in Bueno Nacho as the door jangled open, admitting the most popular patron renowned at Upperton U's location. His tussled golden hair was matted down with rain and his tattered red sweater hung heavily on his wiry frame. But despite his sogginess, the dazzling radiance of his smile seemed almost enough to chase the freezing rain from the sky. "Hey everybody!" he greeted the other regulars with a wave. It didn't take long for his sharp eyes to spot a certain pair of lovely young ladies sitting in his favorite corner booth.  
  
Monique rolled her eyes, looking up at the ceiling with grave irritation. "God, you are such a hack." Muttered she.  
  
"Hmm?" Kim asked, clearly distracted.  
  
"Nothing."  
  
Ron approached the girls with a ready grin. "Hey hey! He said. "Man, is it miserable out there." A tiny, whiskered head popped out of his cargo pocket and burbled softly in agreement. As soon as its luminous eyes spotted the leftover bounty sitting unprotected between Mon and Kim, it leapt up with a joyous squeal and attacked the greasy wrappers.  
  
Monique glanced underneath the table, where Ron quietly created his own personal pond of rainwater imported from outdoors. Above the tabletop, his naked mole rat made short work of their lunch. "Feelin' a little wet, Chet?" she asked with a bemused smirk.  
  
"The humidity sucks." Reaching down, he pulled at the hem of his sweater and took the offending garment up and over his head. A sticky white beater tanktop clung to his frame, revealing the taut lines of his torso and very nearly dropping Monique's jaw. Ron tossed his sweater into the seat next to Kim and chucked his thumb in the counter's direction. "Gonna grab some eats. Want anything?" They shook their heads numbly, and he toddled off.  
  
"Mmm," Monique watched hungrily as Ron walked off, letting her gaze linger and drop. "Forget the tacos. I want some Midwestern Beefcake. How about you, Kim?"  
  
Kim's face turned beet red as Monique waggled her eyebrows. "Whatever," mumbled the mortified teen.  
  
"What's with the blush, girl?" The redhead turned away, trying to avoid Monique's inquisitive gaze. At first, Mon could hardly help but laugh aloud. But when Kim grew redder still and began to fidget, her humor turned to suspicion, and finally, realization. "You're crushing on Ron!" she gasped aloud.  
  
The reaction was immediate and violent as Kim slammed her fist down onto a packet of Diablo sauce. Monique could have sworn she saw the tabletop begin to smoke where the spilled sauce struck before the redhead captured her attention. "I'm not!"  
  
"You 'so' are!" laughed Monique.  
  
"I am 'so' not!" she insisted once more. Her arms folded across her chest as she concocted her best irritated glare and threw it at Monique. The fierce look had all the effect of the torrential winds from a butterfly's wings. "Cut it out!"  
  
"Since when did you have the hots for Ron?" Monique leaned in closer with an ever-growing smile. Even Rufus had stopped eating long enough to focus all his attention on Kim. Now she was really under the spotlight. "I mean, not that I blame you. He 'is' major hotness now, isn't he?"  
  
"It isn't because he's hot!" Kim exclaimed, throwing up her arms in hysterics.  
  
"So you admit it." She smirked victoriously. "AND you think he's hot."  
  
Rufus wagged his tail and laughed, "Ha!"  
  
Kim's arms crossed once again as she wrinkled with a discouraged pout. "Can we please talk about something more interesting than my defunct love life?"  
  
"That depends. Are aliens invading?"  
  
"Not today."  
  
Leaning back in the booth, Monique couldn't hold the smug look on her face back. "Then there's nothing more interesting."  
  
The feisty, fiery redhead exploded in a hail of beans and curses as her fist struck the lonely remains of her burrito. "Cut it out! I am not crushing on him!"  
  
"Crushing on who?"  
  
Kim's rage nearly turned into a stroke once Ron revealed himself standing next to the table. He plopped down, oblivious to Kim's growing fluster as he unwrapped a Grande Chimmarito with a growing smile. "R-Ron!"  
  
"Waf duh deal?" he asked around a mouthful. "C'mon, schpill."  
  
The blathering stream of stutters and half-words that flowed out of Kim's mouth and reddening cheeks was blissfully cut short by a quartet of musical tones emanating from her cargo pocket. She breathed a silent prayer of thanks as she dug out the smooth blue device and flicked the screen on. "What's the sitch, Wade?"  
  
Team Possible's portly techno-geek grinned from his end of their satellite link-up. "You're looking rosy-cheeked, Kim. What up?"  
  
Monique leaned over, putting herself over Kim's shoulder and in the camera's field. "Kim's got a secret crush," she said with a conspiratorial wink.  
  
"Yeah!" Ron added between chews. "And she's not giving up any names."  
  
"Seriously?" Now Wade's interest was piqued, giving him a dangerous gleam in his eye. "I've got this truth serum I've been itching to try out, and-"  
  
"Hi, guys?" The redhead sighed impatiently, "Remember me? The world-saving crime fighter? I'd like to know what the sitch is, please." Her face pruned up with irritation as her entourage shifted away from her.  
  
"Tou-chy!" Wade teased. "Must be juicy, then."  
  
"Wade. Sitch. Now."  
  
Wade grinned readily, settling down to business. With a few keystrokes, he produced a tiny map in the corner of her Kimmunicator, starting with an overhead view of Europe, zooming in to Great Britain, and finally to London. "The London Museum of Natural History reported a theft last night."  
  
Monique shrugged. "So? Isn't that why they have Scotland Yard?"  
  
"I thought Scotland Yard was in...y'know, Scotland." Ron looked more confused than ever. "Don't they have London Yard?"  
  
Ignoring the peanut gallery, Kim instead focused on the tiny screen. "Why call me?"  
  
"The theft occurred in their new Cults and Religion Exhibit. The item: A monkey idol." Another few keystrokes altered the screen once more, this time into a photo of a small simian statue with a somber expression frozen on its stone features. Its face held a pair of ruby eyes, and cradled in its paws was an emerald the size of an egg. "Totally priceless. One of a kind."  
  
"Black market?" Kim asked.  
  
"Cult ritual?" suggested Monique.  
  
Ron swallowed and grew pale. "Monkeys?" he squeaked.  
  
"Ho..." Rufus moaned as he hid inside of Ron's Grande Burritaco Supreme, quivering at the mere mention of monkeys. Had Ron been able to, he would have done the same.  
  
Wade continued, "Not sure. The thieves knocked out the cameras. Real professional job."  
  
"Then it's time to send in the professionals to catch them." Kim's confidence returned as she grew more into her element. Gone was the embarrassed teenager, and come to stay was the fierce force for justice.  
  
And, of course, Ron was on-hand to do just what he did best; ruin the drama of the moment and break the tension all at once. "Technically, we're still amateurs since nobody pays us."  
  
Kim blinked at this for a moment before looking back at the Kimmunicator screen without comment. "Ride?"  
  
"On the way." Wade assured her. "You can meet them at the U's Courtyard. V-TOL transport jet courtesy of Uncle Sam."  
  
"I'll drive." Ron added eagerly. He squeezed Rufus out of the burrito and paused only long enough to wipe the beans from his naked mole blob before picketing the former rodent turned amorphous creature.  
  
As she rose, Kim cast a questioning look at the odd-girl-out. "Wanna come? We could get some real fish and chips."  
  
"Though if you ask for real chips," Ron lamented with a scratch of his head, "They get all indignant about it."  
  
Monique smiled. Ever since her involvement in bringing down LoVE, Kim and Ron had been encouraging her to take a more active role in their escapades. But truthfully, she didn't need the excitement. It was a full-time job just managing her social life. There wasn't time for globetrotting. But there was always time for mind games. "You guys go on ahead. You know what they say; two's company, three's a crowd."  
  
"I thought that was just for dates," commented Ron.  
  
"Silly me." Monique cooed coyly. As she picked at the remains of Ron's food, she savored the look of awkward embarrassment flushing across Kim's retreating features. "Good luck!" she called out after them.  
  
To Be Continued 


	3. Field Trip

_All-Purpose Disclaimer_

Kim Possible is a registered subsidiary of the Disney Corporation, and as such is far out of the reach of my grubby, filthy writer's hands. But maybe if I stretch reeeeeaaal hard...

Nope. Not quite.

**Kim Possible**

**The Power of Trust**

_by Cyberwraith Nine_

"The Idol of Simor is a most valuable and very interesting piece. It dates back thousands of years to an ancient sect in Japan that worshipped monkeys, and even sought to emulate them in physical appearance and combat technique."

Professor Umbaum led Kim and Ron through the hallowed and hollow halls of his museum with sharp clicks of his immaculately polished boots. The museum's patrons and staff were absent in light of the recent theft. There were, however, several of London's finest patrolling the building, hunting for clues and dusting for prints. Though respectful of their investigation, Kim barely registered the police's presence. Her mind raced in anticipation of her own analysis of the crime scene.

As they reached the exhibit, Kim asked, "Why would anyone want to steal the idol?" She didn't get the chance to elaborate as the expansive room drew her breath away. Dozens of glass cases littered the center of the space, surrounded on all sides by pedestals and shelves, all containing a rainbow of relics from countless cultures from around the world and throughout history. Each item featured a small paper plaque with its name and a brief history of its purpose. It was a great gathering of all faiths, laid out side by side in what was possibly the largest peaceful conglomeration of religions in any one spot.

"Because they're sick and twisted!" Rather than impressed, Ron was intimidated by the broad array of artifacts. He passed by a small shrunken and shivered, drawing away from the bronzed primate and closer to Kim. Of the thousands of statues, swords, mummified body parts and various knick-knacks that creeped him out, one case in particular stood out, and it was that very same case that Umbaum was leading them to.

"Ignore him," Kim told Umbaum with some chagrin. Now was not the time for Ron's phobia to interfere with their work. "He has a 'thing' about monkeys."

"Quite." As they drew closer, it became apparent that the case's glass was no longer intact; a perfect had been cut into the glass, barely large enough for someone even with hands as small as Kim's to maneuver through, almost too small to have extracted the statue from. "Here is the scene of the caper, Ms. Possible. The Idol was situated here." He pointed to an empty block toward the edge of the display; There was numerous other pieces surrounding it, some decorated garishly with jewels, others crafted from solid gold, yet they showed no signs of tampering.

Kim leaned in, studying the display closely. Her green eyes narrowed upon the spot where the wayward statuette had been. "You said the cameras were disabled?"

"Only for this room," Umbaum replied, "And only for the duration of the crime, apparently. Our other security systems remained active."

"Then the point of entry was in this room." Kim's gaze wandered about, searching high above them. Three of the walls were topped with a long line of windows that stretched from one end to the other. They let in quite a bit of natural light, and doubtless helped the museum lower its running costs. In this case, it had also provided plenty of choices for a door. "One of those. I'd bet my gold locket on it."

Ron frowned, mentally running through a list of Kim's expansive jewelry collection. "What gold locket?" he concluded. With the holidays so close, he had sneaked a peek at her inventory, looking for gift ideas. Buying a gift for the world's greatest cosmopolitan teenage heroine sometimes felt akin to pushing a boulder up a hill for all eternity, if only a little less sweaty.

With an obnoxious smile, Kim replied, "The gold locket you're getting me for Christmas." A simple confession would have been far preferable, and more dignified, than the pathetic spew of sputtering denial that followed from Ron's mouth. To spare him, she simply pointed upward. "Cool it," she said. "Why don't you check out the windows?"

Ron frowned. He had been so careful, sneaking around jewelry shops that he figured were far from his best friend's scope of influence. "Cheater."

"But before you go..." Kim reached out and dug into Ron's cargo pocket, retrieving Rufus before Ron began scaling atop the cases to hoist himself to the windowsill. As he climbed and Umbaum fretted (lest his feet slip and destroy a priceless artifact), Kim lifted Rufus to the hole in the case. What was small for her hand was more than wide enough for his undulating pink body. "Think you can scout around?" she asked him.

Rufus snapped to attention with a salute and a squeak. He dove from Kim's hand, through the thieves handiwork and into the case. He immediately bean shuffling and snuffling all the remaining pieces of the exhibit. Umbaum winced and hissed sympathetically as the mole rat tossed his priceless pieces about, but nothing was visibly damaged. Still, the curator's face contorted in such a manner that Kim honestly wondered if they would have to call for an ambulance.

Ron called down from one of the windows, "Gold star, Kim!"

He waved a tiny wisp of black cloth that had been caught in the windowsill. Kim snatched the scrap as he tossed it down. Then she forced a giggle back down into her throat as she watched him scramble down from his high perch. Once he was down, Kim examined the scrap carefully. It stretched slightly at a tug, and was smooth to the touch. Bringing it to her face, its subtle, musky odor became apparent.

She was about to comment when Rufus popped his head from the case. The mole rat chattered excitedly as he waved a tiny strand of brown fur clutched in his claw. "Jackpot!" Rufus squeaked.

"Nice work, boys." Kim said with a smile. She took the strand in one hand as her other retrieved the Kimmunicator. With a flick of her thumb, she called up an image of their online advisor. "Wade, I need a DNA analysis on a hair we found."

"_Comin' right up, Kim."_ The top of the Kimmunicator opened up, revealing a pair of snapping tweezers that snatched Rufus' find up and drew it back into the device. _"It'll be a while."_

A snort of disbelief blasted from Ron's flaring nostrils. "What good's a DNA test? S'not like Wade has a DNA match for everyone on the planet."

"_I have yours,"_ Wade retorted smugly.

"What? How did you...?" Ron began patting his extremities, as if the gap of missing genetic code would reveal itself. "Where'd you get it?"

Kim moaned in irritation. "Cool it, guys. It's just a hunch."

Umbaum seemed intrigued and delighted. "Have you any idea as to the identity of the culprits, Ms. Possible?" he inquired politely.

"Maybe." Kim examined the scene carefully. The criminals had been savvy enough to temporarily scramble the museum's alarms and surveillance on a localized level, but rushed enough to cut through the glass case rather than pick its lock and risk detection from a night-duty guard. "Whoever they were, they're good. Really subtle, too."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. He glanced at the exhibit room's door and lifted his arm to point. "Not at all like those guys."

"Everybody FREEZE!" A slim, athletic blonde posed in the doorway, framed on either side with a trio of large, thick, and very surly thugs dressed in matching black togs and caps, making their numbers seven in all. And to the far left, away from the action, a skinny youth lugged a very large and expensive-looking camera on his shoulder, filming the bold, grandstanding entrance. "We're here for the valuables. No heroics, and no one gets hurt."

Kim blinked, and then blinked again, and then a third time for good measure. "Uh...Adrena Lynn?"

Adrienne 'Adrena' Lynn did her own double take as her eyes rested upon the teen heroes. Her reaction was immediate and violent. "Kim Possible! What are you doing here?"

"Me?" Kim shot back, "Shouldn't you be wherever C-list villains go when they're washed up?"

Umbaum approached the gaggle of thieves. His moustache bristled with ire and his wizen hands were curled into shaking fists. "Young lady, I demand to know what you are doing here. Where are the Inspectors?"

One of the thugs raised a long, nasty rifle. With a clap of thunder, a whirling bolo leapt from the end of his gun and wrapped Umbaum in an embrace of steel cord. The impact knocked the elderly man down and sent him sliding, until a marble pedestal kindly stopped him.

Leering, Adrena Lynn sniped, "They're tied up at the moment." She was about to continue when the chortling of one of her henchmen spoiled the moment. A nasty glare silenced him forthwith, earning her a muttered, apathetic apology before she returned to her standoff. She added, "Clever of you to try and outmaneuver me like this, Kimmie. You've always been my greatest foe."

Kim and Ron exchanged puzzled glances and helpless shrugs before they adopted twin fighting stances. Only their expressions differed; hers was a hardened scowl, while he wore features twisted in confusion. "Actually," Ron quipped, "I think we can write this one up in chapter twelve of our' Big Book of Coincidences.' Freaky." He seemed more amused than anything. Even Rufus chirped with confidence as he crawled back into his pal's pocket.

Kim, however, had reached the end of her rope. Between the lousy weather back home, the hysterically bad date she still stung from, Monique's good natured and ill-timed ribbing about her non-crush on Ron, all piled atop the mounting stress of the holidays...In short, she was ready to vent her frustrations on this writer's convenience. "Can we skip past the hero/villain banter and get straight to the fight?" she huffed with an air of impatience.

"Henchmen," Lynn crowed with outstretched arm, "ATTACK!"

A wall of beefy British muscle barreled their way, bearing down on the heroes in a heartbeat. Naturally, Kim's mind had no trouble keeping up with Lynn's amateurish tactics, to say nothing of her own lightning reflexes. "You take the henchmen," she called back as she took to the air, "Stunt Girl's mine."

"Oka-what?" Ron paled at the odds, but it was too late. Kim had already vaulted off a flunky's impossibly broad shoulders to escape the tidal wave of ass-whomping he now faced alone. For their part, the henchmen seemed content to pound the daylights out of Kim's pasty, unassuming sidekick first before taking her on directly. Gritting his teeth, Ron couldn't quite swallow his grimace. "Dandy."

Three quick handsprings carried Kim across the cool tile and straight into melee with Lynn. She knew the former extreme athlete was fast, but Kim wasn't expecting the blur of white tank top that sped around her. The heroine lashed out with boot and glove, but Lynn proved to be too fast for either.

"You like my new moves?" Lynn must have noticed Kim's surprise. A smug, self-satisfied smirk swam on her lips. "I've been taking Tai Chi."

"Um..."

"EXTREME Tai Chi!" she added, lashing out with her own attacks. "Like it?"

Kim rolled her eyes. "Tré chic. Now check into Kung Fu." Adrena Lynn's moves were slick, but store bought, and still had that packaged smell about them. The skills and conditioning were there, but it was experience she lacked, and Kim had that in spades. She feinted left as Lynn circled around, calling the athlete's arms up to block a kick that wasn't coming. Instead, Kim chopped and caught her on the shoulder blade. Dropping her feinting foot, she sent Lynn stumbling forward and on her knees.

"Not bad, Kimmie." A growl rumbled from Lynn's throat as she glared back. Her foot burrowed into Kim's stomach as the heroine grew too ambitious and knocked her back, allowing Lynn a chance to regain her footing. "Let's try another take."

Air rushed into Kim's aching chest, and then streamed out as she blew a lock of red hair back into place. "You okay, Ron?" she called out as she rejoined the battle.

"Just peachy!" Ron barely had enough breath for the two words. He moved as water dancing between rock and rapids, rolling off the massive fists sent his way. The wind of a particularly meaty hand tussled his blond locks as he sidled up the arm. Too close to be stopped, Ron planted his fist in the man's chest and sent him flying into a case filled with tiny statues and urns.

"Please, Mister Stoppable!" Umbaum wailed, "Those are priceless totems from Mesopotamia!"

"Sorry," Ron called unconvincingly as he ducked a second and third assault. The other thugs were already on top of him, seeking to pick up the slack. They moved to flank the poor sidekick even as their fallen friend picked himself from the ruined relics and dusted the remains of an early Neolithic shaman from his woolen sweater.

Sensing her best friend's rising panic, Kim tried to move her own fight closer to his. But Lynn would have none of it; Though she was no match for Kim in a straight fight, Adrena Lynn knew enough to weave in and out of the priceless pieces around the room. She herded Kim further and further from Ron, cutting either teen off from any chance of mutual support. With no other option, Kim swallowed her despair and waited for an opening, trying to create one with a little old-fashioned trash talk.

"So what's with the new you, Lynn?" taunted Kim. She bobbed and weaved past a line of tiki gods, taking a few experimental swipes at her foe along the way. "Got tired of being a loser?"

If Lynn felt anything at the dig, she kept it hidden well. Kim's mild attacks were brushed aside as she retorted, "I decided to shift my paradigm."

"But why a museum? I didn't think you could even spell the word."

Lynn scoffed. "But I can spell 'comeback,' and that takes cash. And there's plenty of musty old guys out there ready to take this stuff off my hands." Lynn's foot hooked over a large pottery vase, nearly taking Kim's pretty nose with it.

Kim threw a thumb back at the roving cameraman. Throughout the fight, he had yet to do anything other than catch all of Lynn's 'extreme' new moves. "And that? Can't say that filming your own crime spree ranks among the top ten smartest things to do."

"It's a new angle." Stars shone brightly in Lynn's eyes at the thought of returning to the hearts and minds of viewers everywhere. Lynn waved her hand in a panning motion that crossed the room as she said, "Bad girl goes good, turns to charity drives and big events to atone for a brief, yet tragic, stint with evil."

"Gag me with a fork." Kim choked on the nonsense as she stuffed her foot into Adrena Lynn's face.

Ron, in the meantime, had more on his plate than he would have cared for. He was keeping the six at bay, but a lot of property damage was resulting at the same time. Every time a telltale crash resonated, the still-bound Umbaum began shouting furiously at Kim's sidekick.

_CRUNCH!_

"Mister Stoppable, that was a priceless Mayan tablet! It was appraised at over thirteen million pounds!"

Ron caught a fist the size of his head and twisted it, breaking the thug's wrist. Then he cartwheeled back as two more took the whimpering man's place. "You said it was priceless!" Ron cried back.

Cheek pressed to the floor, Umbaum could only snort scornfully. "I spoke of its intellectual value."

Another urn stood between Ron and his attackers, and was shattered thusly. "Well, I'm trying to concentrate on my physical value right now!"

"That was a-"

The face of a fallen foe served as Ron's springboard as he leapt into the air and over a case. He landed on the opposite side, separated and safe from the four remaining henchmen for the moment. "Oh come on," he groused, "You couldn't even see that one!"

Umbaum called back, "I could hear it."

"Crud." Ron watched as the henchmen decided on a more direct solution to Ron's escape, and crashed through enough ancient baubles to amount to sums of cash Ron would likely never see in this or any other eon. He backed away as the tidal wave of testosterone resumed its chase, spreading out to box him in. Desperately searching, his hand came upon the hilt of a short blade recently freed from its former case. He waved it under the nose of the nearest thug. "Now the blade's sharpened on the other side!" he taunted.

There was a general glance of confusion between his enemies at the jibe. Even Rufus shrugged, helpless. Umbaum, on the other hand, was absolutely livid. "MISTER Stoppable, I simply must protest. That happens to be a ceremonial dagger used in circumcision rituals!"

A pause arose in the standoff as Ron gaped incredulously at his weapon. Even the thugs shrank back from the rusty blade. "Seriously? **Ewww!**" Ron dropped the dagger in a flash and shook his hand as if it were burnt. An expression of pure disgust exploded on his features, even as a pair of meaty arms encircled him from behind and lifted him bodily from the floor.

"Gotcha!" The forth (and craftiest) thug crowed.

Ron didn't hear him. "Eh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heh-heewwwwwww!" he moaned.

Adrena Lynn lay at Kim's feet, muttering dizzily about promos and primetime. The villain vanquished, Kim sprinted across the field of strewn debris. "Hold on, Ron!"

Legs pumping, eyes narrowed and determined, Kim careened toward the remaining quartet now gathered around Ron. Thousands upon thousands of tactical scenarios cropped up on her mind, stemming from sixteen styles and over ten years of martial arts. A little luck and a few well-placed kicks were all she needed to free Ron and wrap this up. Kim cleared her mind and leapt into the air, ready to pummel some bad guy and save her friend.

Her war cry became a shortened yelp as the thug she aimed for reached up and snatched her from midair, encasing her foot in a grip like warm steel. She swung with momentum as he held her aloft, keeping her at such height so her inverted face leveled off with Ron's. "Huh." She said at last.

"Hey KP." There was no blame in Ron's voice, nor even any sarcasm. "Glad you could make it."

"These guys are a lot bigger up close."

He snorted a short laugh. "Yeah, tell me about it."

"Wanna try the Denver Mint shuffle?"

"You're on."

The pair moved in simultaneous actions; Ron's legs swung up and caught Kim's captor square under his chin before any of the thugs even had a chance to act, even while Kim flexed her flattened abs and brought her body up in an inverted uppercut to Ron's captor. Henchmen went flying and heroes went free in the space of a heartbeat. Once on the ground, Ron's foot rose in a devastating side kick that blasted the thug to his left. Kim dropped to the floor on her hands and twisted, delivering a windmill kick that drove the remaining thug back.

"Well," Ron chirped happily as Kim flipped back onto her feet. "That went pretty well."

"Better even than in Denver," Kim agreed.

But Kim and Ron weren't the only ones who could act as one. The thugs regrouped and all drew small, black sidearms from beneath their heavy pullovers. Where they had gotten such things in England, as well as the question of why they hadn't used them before, were all very good questions that sadly had no time to be answered. "Enough of this," one thug groused. "I didn't go through grad school t'deal wit this crap."

Hands in the air, Kim and Ron shared another incredulous look. "You went to grad school? And you're robbing museums?" Kim asked.

"Student loans don't pay for th'mselves, love." He barked. "Now jus' lie th' bloody hell down."

"Huh. Takes all kinds." Ron shook his head.

He would have said more, but was cut short by a dark shadow darting across his field of vision. The blur struck among the thugs, driving a wedge between them. Gunfire went wild, and Kim and Ron dove for cover behind one of the few remaining artifact pedestals.

Blind to the fighting, they listened for a few precious seconds as the thunderclap of bullets echoed in the small room. Kim seemed more agitated than usual, and very confused. "Not that I'm ungrateful," she grunted, "But what the hell just happened?"

"Looks like we've got a three-oh-eight, KP." Ron exchanged glanced with Rufus.

Oddly enough, this was one of Ron's bizarre, eclectic games she was familiar with. But her quizzical frown only deepened. "Runaway train about to plow into a bus full of nuns?"

"What? No...Wait." He scowled. "Rufus, what is...No, wait! A two-seven-four!"

"Gangrenous elephant in need of medical attention?"

"Damn it. Kim, which one is 'benevolent ninja lending mysterious aid'?"

Kim shook her head. "Could we figure this one out later?" She launched herself from their hiding space, vaulting over the fertility goddess that stood on their cover. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Ron followed.

Their friend, who was indeed some sort of ninja, had dispatched with two of the thugs, but at the expense of his position. The other two had him flanked, boxing him in and keeping him dancing with a set of wicked daggers. One of them tore into his charcoal robes, revealing pale, milky skin beneath. It would only be a matter of time before the blades drew blood. Wasting no time, Kim launched into another flying side kick. This time, there was no one to catch her, and her boot struck true on the back of the thug's head. The blow knocked him unconscious instantly, and sent him flying into his friend. They landed in a heap, and neither one stirred.

For a moment, the ninja and Kim stared each other down. Though the battle was technically over, their rescuer had yet to relax. His hooded features hidden, only his eyes were revealed, a pair of almond slits that glared at Kim with suspicion. Kim decided that she would have to be the one to extend her thanks first. "Um. Hi. Listen, I wanted to-"

Kim started as the ninja raised his hand and flicked a finger in the direction behind her. It took a half-second to realize that it was a warning, not an attack, and another half-second to spin in place. It turned out to be just enough time to see one of the henchmen they had supposedly dropped, sitting up and covered in ruined artifacts. His arm was fully extended, and a glint of silver traversed the room at blinding speed, streaking toward Kim's head.

A hand flashed before her widened jade eyes, stopping the tip of the dagger mere centimeters from her nose between closed fingers. Just as quickly, the hand flicked out and returned the knife to its owner. The blade's hilt quivered, buried in the resilient marble of a pedestal with the thug's hand sandwiched between. He roared in agony and tugged uselessly at the knife; he wouldn't be going anywhere soon.

Kim's heart pounded with adrenaline as she followed the hand's arm back up to its owner's face. Ron's freckled features darkened with intensity, never leaving the thug whose knife he had returned. "Ron?" she stuttered in a breath.

The moment passed, and Ron blinked as if awakening from a terrible nightmare. "I, uh...um...heh."

"How did...?" She felt like asking someone to pinch her. What just happened?

He rubbed the back of his neck, abashed and biting his lip. "Just lucky, I guess."

"You have always relied heavily on your luck, Ron-san."

The voice had come from the ninja, and it was surprisingly sultry. Still wrapped in thick swathes of black, the ninja approached the duo slowly. Each step sang a symphony of grace and perfect poise. Gingerly, the ninja lifted the heavy robe from his frame, letting it drop to the floor. Beneath was a thin shadow suit that clung to a decidedly feminine form. It was then that Kim realized that 'he' wasn't so 'he' after all. Last to vanish was the heavy hood; the ninja unwrapped her face, unveiling high cheekbones and full, pouting lips sculpted into beautiful bronzed skin beneath silky waves of midnight hair.

"But then," she smirked, "You always were the lucky one, were you not?" She sauntered over with swaying hips, and snared his shoulder in a tight embrace. Ron's already pasty features paled visibly as she ran a finger down his nose and traced his lips.

"Yori-"was all he could stutter before her lips crashed against his, stealing a kiss with ravenous abandon.

A series of tiny pops echoed in Kim's ears, and a distant part of her mind wondered if that was the sounds of her tight fists cracking at the knuckles, or simply the noise the bursting blood vessels in her head were making. "Nice to meet you," she growled.

**To Be Continued**


	4. Gonna See A Monkey

_All-Purpose Disclaimer_

Kim Possible is a registered trademark of the Disney Empire. Its forces march even now ever onward toward victory and conquest.

Oh. And Eisner is a putz for putting the kibosh on Season 3.

**Kim Possible**

**The Power of Trust**

_by Cyberwraith Nine_

Jealousy. Hatred. Seething, burning, undulating like dancing maggots festering in the stomach. Mistrust. Scandal. Bitterness. Anger. How dare she look at him like that. She doesn't know him. What gives her the right. Sadness. Outrage. Misery. Spend fourteen years with him. Then you can look at him like that. Only you won't. I won't let you. Horror. Un-

"Kim?"

Kim shook her head back into reality. Beneath their uncomfortable seats, the loaned government Black Ops supersonic transport shook ever so gently. The United States had been all too happy to lend Team Possible the transatlantic ride after Kim single-handedly spotted the design flaw (which was no big, really) in the very craft they now rode in. She and Ron sat on one side of the cavernous passenger compartment; she in the window seat, and he, next to the aisle. A pretty attendant dressed in drab grays hovered patiently at their side with a small cart of complimentary snacks. And beyond the attendant...Her.

Jealousy. Hatred. Seething, burni-

Ron jabbed her with his elbow, jarring her back to reality again. "KP, do you want any peanuts or anything?" A tiny bag of honey-roasted peanuts jangled between his fingers, with a pile of them waiting for him in his lap. Yori had managed to steal one for herself, and between Rufus and Ron, she was lucky to have returned from the maelstrom with her fingers intact. Seeing the black-clad girl sitting there, with her ninja hood pushed back and her short, lustrous hair swinging free, licking her full, pouting lips as she ate, staring longingly at Kim's sidekick...

God, what a bitch.

Yori's almond eyes rose questioningly at Kim's glare. The redhead immediately forced a smile. "No thank you," she caramelized, "I seem to have lost my appetite."

The attendant kept a similar smile on her own features. "Will there be anything else?"

"I don't suppose you'd tell me when you get off-duty, would you?" Ron asked with a grin. He grew somber as her smile remained frozen and deathly silent. "You could garrote me with your bow tie, couldn't you?"

"Eight seconds maximum, Junior." She tossed him a wink as she wheeled her cart into the back. Now there was only the three teens, a pile of peanuts, and an intense drop in temperature.

"So, Yori, was it?" Kim patted Ron on the arm as he and Rufus dug into the peanuts like feral creatures. There was more than a hint of possessiveness in Kim's grip that only the ladies saw. "How do you and Ron know each other?"

Yori favored Kim with such a dazzling smile that Kim almost flinched. "Ron-san and I initially met during his brief tenure as an exchange student at Yamanouchi in high school."

"Oh." So that's where the little harlot crawled out from; some fancy, spoiled-kid prep school in Japan. Kim had read pamphlets on the school years ago, when Ron had been selected for a weeklong exchange during their Junior year. All the finest facilities, teachers, textbooks and equipment money could by was the norm for Yamanouchi. Sure, Yori had busted out some mediocre moves back at the museum. That didn't make her part of the team or anything. The ninja get-up was probably some rich kid fantasy game.

Ron nodded vigorously. "Yep," he agreed, munching merrily on is snacks. "Yori pulled me through some pretty lonely days away from home."

Creaking metal moaned beneath Kim's whitened knuckles. "Ron didn't tell me about any girlfriends he had in Japan." She tried to sound casual about it, and failed miserably.

"Oh no. Ron-san and I were merely friends in high school." Kim relaxed a fraction at this, until Yori added, "We did not become lovers until he returned this previous summer."

The plastic casing on Kim's armrest snapped off in her hand as Ron gagged ferociously on his honey-roasted snack. Her green eyes, murky with suspicion before, now burned with accusation intense enough to light the brilliantly blushing Ron aflame. Kim grabbed Ron by his shoulder and practically shouted in his ear, "Lover? And you never told me?" She looked ready to tear him apart, when another's tinkling laughter stayed her hand.

Both Kim and Ron turned to witness Yori in tears of laughter. "Oh Ron-san," she shook, "Kimberly-san is just as you described her." She swept her wet cheeks dry and bowed her head, stuffing the guffaws away. "Forgive me, please, Kimberly-san. Ron-san described you at such great lengths, I feel as though I know you myself."

"Yeah," Ron laughed uneasily beneath Kim's glare. "Yori's got a wacky sense of humor."

"Do tell." It was a wonder any words could escape Kim's clenched jaw. It was also very lucky Ron sat between her and Yori. "And what exactly were you doing in London anyway? Awful big coincidence, running into us like that."

Ron seemed uncomfortable with the question, but Yori didn't bat an eye. "Quite," she replied coolly. "One of the school's governors donated certain items to the exhibit. When he learned of the theft at the museum, I was dispatched to investigate."

"And Yamanouchi usually sends its students across the globe to investigate crime?" There were a few too many holes in Yori's tale for Kim's liking. For some reason, the girl set off blaring klaxons beneath Kim's red hair. "Seems a little unusual."

Yori countered, "No more so than two teenagers taking it upon themselves to do the same." Kim huffed as she added, "But truthfully, I am no longer a student. I graduated the previous semester, and now remain as a semi-autonomous attaché to my school."

"Super." There existed a mounting storm between the two women as Kim spoke. Its force crackled with force enough to pierce even Ron's oblivious nature. "Can we drop you off somewhere?"

"I would prefer to remain with Ron-san if it is all the same to you." Though respectful, Yori's polite request was wrapped in velvet steel. "I have some knowledge of the item that was stolen, and wish to provide whatever assistance I can."

Ron was certain the brewing tension would dissolve into a shouting match in a matter of seconds. That's why, when Kim's pocket sang its familiar four notes, he was ready to get down on his knees and thank God for small miracles.

"WHAT, Wade?" Kim snapped into her Kimmunicator.

Even a thousand miles away, Wade recoiled at Kim's nasty tone. _"Sheesh. I just wanted to tell you that I finished the analysis on that sample you sent me."_

There was no need for Wade to finish. Kim could read the answer on his face as she said, "It wasn't human."

If Wade was surprised, he was too professional to let it show. _"Bang-on. The data matches up with that of Simius Bello, the Brawler Monkey. Very rare. They used to be bred for fights, kind of like roosters or dogs. Some still are."_

Next to her, Ron began ticking off on his fingers. "Monkey idol, monkey thieves...Monkey Fist." He exchanged pointed glances with Kim, who nodded in agreement. "Looks like this mystery is in the bag."

"Lord Montgomery Fiske?" Yori spoke up from the sidelines, leaning over as if to see the Kimmunicator's screen. "The Englishman?"

"You've heard of him?" Kim sounded surprised.

"Only in passing."

"Well, you're going to meet in face-to-face soon enough." Yori could handle a few hired goons all right, but the nasty, bitter part of Kim reveled at the thought of the amateur ninja taking on a full-fledged supervillain. She allowed for a second to indulge in the unbecoming feeling, and then returned her attention to her conversation with Wade. "Can you start compiling reports? We need to track down-"

_"Already found him."_

Now it was Kim's turn to be caught flatfooted. "That was fast."

_"Not really."_ The techie shrugged. _"He's right where we left him."_

**CLANG **

Thick, aged grease caked the bulletproof glass that separated hero and villain from their eternal struggle. It warped the twisted and hairy features of a once stately gentleman into that of the grotesque monster Kim Possible knew lied beneath the surface. A question rose in her mind, namely that of what she might look like to him, but the notion passed quickly enough. Her thoughts didn't linger long as she watched him pick up the receiver on the other side and stare back at her expectantly.

Kim stole a glance at Ron. Really, he had more to be anxious about than she. After all, Monkey Fist was his arch-nemesis, not hers. To the untrained eye, Ron seemed as calm as still waters. But the way he clutched the phone, the way his other hand cradled Rufus protectively, said otherwise. At once Kim was inspired to mirror his outward confidence. She whisked the receiver from its cradle and brought it to her ear.

"Kim Possible." Fist's rich baritone voice sounded tinny through the receiver. She watched his beady eyes dart next to her and narrow fearsomely. "I see you still refuse to leash your pet rodent. Or his hairless companion," he added with a snide smile.

A similar smile passed Ron's lips. "You owe me lunch, KP."

Monkey Fist seemed confused at both Kim's irritation and Ron's apparent glee. "Have I missed something?"

With a brief groan, Kim explained, "Ron bet me that you would insult him before you did me. I lost."

"And she knows just how much it takes to fill up the Roninator!" Ron performed a brief victory dance in his folding metal chair beneath the agitated glare of their imprisoned foe.

"Charming," Fist said dryly. "May I return to my cell now?"

Kim reassumed command of the conversation. "We need information."

"Oh, that's right. How silly of me." Fist leaned back, examining the cuticles on his hairy toes with utter disdain painted across his wide features. "I'd be delighted to help the pubescent, pathetic do-gooders for whom I can thank for my incarceration. Please, if there's anything I can do to help, don't hesitate to ask."

"An idol was taken from a British museum yesterday," Kim pressed. "A monkey idol. Right up your alley."

"You caught me. I confess." Monkey Fist raised his hands as if to be cuffed. "Take me away."

Kim's eyes rolled. "So not the humor." Her gaze never left Fist's hairy face as she pulled the Kimmunicator from her pocket and placed it on the counter between them.

Through the glass, the Monkey Master watched a small blue mock-up of a familiar idol shimmer into the air. It rotated slowly, flashing a frown so similar to Kim's that it brought him a silent chuckle before he recognized the idol itself. A brief burst of horror slipped past his indifferent mask as he leaned back in his chair. "Adorable bauble. Are you redecorating?"

"The Idol of Simor." Kim would not let Fist joke his way around the issue. She slid the Kimmunicator and its hologram closer, practically against the glass. No trace of humor remained within her as she demanded, "We need to know what it can do and who would want to use it."

"Why do you assume it's magic?" countered Fist.

Ron snorted. "Dude, we are nowhere near that lucky."

For a moment, Monkey Fist stared into Ron's eyes without comment. There was no malice in his gaze, but instead, a deep sense of camaraderie. Loathe though he was to believe it, Ron could have sworn there was even some sympathy buried in those beady eyes. Somehow, this upset Ron more than any words on his foe's behalf could ever inflict.

"The Monkey's Tale," he said at last. "It's a night club in downtown Tokyo. Very ritzy. Very exclusive. There's a well-known collector of all things mystical and monkey there. He owns the club, among other things, and he might be able to tell you something about your missing trinket."

That was all they would get out of him, and Kim knew it. She collected her device and rose, giving Fist a mild look of gratitude. "We'll tell the warden you cooperated," she assured him, "But considering your rap sheet, I don't know how much good it'll do."

"You needn't trouble yourself." Monkey Fist's assurance was much colder than Kim's had been. "I'll be out of here soon enough." He glared at Ron, baring long, vicious fangs at the sidekick. "The thought of crushing the life from this pretender's miserable throat with my own teeth is more than enough to drive me onward."

Ron winked at his nemesis as he stood up. "Watch your corn chute, Monty," he advised Fist cheerily.

The two heroes walked out of the visitation room and into the adjoining hallway. The long corridor was empty save for Yori and the prison guard who awaited the meeting's end to return Fist to his cell. Yori looked questioningly between the duo, silently inquiring.

"We got a lead." Kim turned to the guard and nodded gratefully. "You can toss him back in his hole. Thanks a lot, Morey."

The middle-aged guard snuffled his large moustache. "Why, it was the least we could do after you single-handedly brought prison riot rates down across the nation, Miz Possible."

She waved the praise away, claiming, "No big. Anyone could have put together those 'Good Behavior and You' seminars."

"Excuse me." Yori tilted her head to the door as she cut into Kim's humility as politely as possible. "May I speak with the prisoner? It is not every day that one receives an opportunity such as this."

Kim scowled. Yori's presence had already deepened her bad mood. Being asked to satisfy some amateur ninja's supervillain curiosity didn't sit well with her either, but there was no real reason to say no. A forced indifference lifted her shoulders. "Sure. We'll head back to the jet."

"Wait." Ron stopped both women in their tracks as they turned to leave in opposite directions. "Do you want someone to wait with you?" By 'someone', Ron clearly meant himself. For no reason she could discern, the offer shoved a barb deep under Kim's skin. It only went deeper as Yori took Ron's hand.

She smiled. "Thank you, Ron-san. But I can find my own way back to the transport." A little quieter, she added, "Do not concern yourself. I shall not be long."

As Kim and Ron started down the hall, Yori took one last moment to gather herself. An encouraging smile from Morey saw her into the comparatively chilly room, nipping at her thin stealth suit as she approached the glass wall and table. Beady black eyes clung to her as she calmly took her seat. At first, all she did was examine him and compare the wretch before her to the powerful memory of the unstoppable madman who had overpowered her with such ease years ago.

Finally, she bowed slightly at the waist from her seat. "Lord Monkey Fist."

"I remember you." It was not a snarl so much as it was an amused realization. "you helped the buffoon foil my grab for the Lotus Blade." He paused, and added, "You honor me with the use of my full title, child."

"Merely expressing my respect." Luckily, respect was not equivalent to admiration.

"As such," he continued, "I think you want me to divulge something more." His own detective skills evidently amused him as he leaned back with a smirk. Mona Lisa could not have looked more smug or mysterious. "And what makes you think I'll tell you anything?"

Yori waited a beat. "Someone seeks the Lotus Blade."

"I know." The smile broadened. "Your old master senses it too, didn't he?" At her nod, he said, "The buffoon felt it as well. He simply does not understand."

"This lead you have provided them: Do you trust it?" If anything but the truth parted his lips, she would know it instantly.

"Trust him?" Monkey Fist chuckled. "No. But I'm relatively certain the trip won't be an entire waste of time."

Eyes, voice, skin tone, all remained stable. It was as close to the truth as Monkey Fist had ever uttered in his life. Whether or not that was any kind of truth at all remained to be seen, a thought that chilled Yori to the core as she rose to leave. She bowed to the man-ape one last time, then started toward the door.

"Oh, and child?" Monkey Fist drew some satisfaction from watching Yori stiffen. "Take good care of the buffoon and my blade. As far as I'm concerned, both are mine to do with as I see fit."

**SEATBACKS IN THEIR UPRIGHT POSITIONS, PLEASE**

The taxi pulled off in a streak of yellow, leaving its former occupants to choke on a cloud of exhaust in the heart of Dreidleton. Middleton's Jewish block was deathly silent at the late hour (or early, rather), which let Kim's sugary voice carry much farther than she intended.

"Wow, it sure is late." Kim stretched and feigned a yawn as they stopped in front of their tiny apartment building. The December chill bit fiercely into her grimy skin and clothes. She longed to rid herself of the black and khaki, and the makeup still caked on from her crappy date. But there was still one small problem to deal with first. "We can give you a list of hotels. Most of them owe us favors, so money won't be a problem."

A small heart attack drew Ron into a fit of hysterics. "Kim, are you livin' la vida loca? She's not staying at a hotel!" He took Yori's hand and gestured grandly to the aging, run-down building. "It's not a lot," he said, "But it's cozy, and there's plenty of room. You're welcome to stay as long as you like."

"Heh. Yeah...How long is that going to be, anyway?" The question hadn't sounded half as rude in Kim's head as it did coming out of her mouth.

"Kim!"

Yori bowed slightly and clapped her hands together. "I do not wish to be a burden," she said. Her features were calm and unreadable; Ron had more than enough mortification for the both of them. "I must see this investigation through to its conclusion."

A strong arm encircled her shoulders and led her up the stairs. "And until you do," Ron told her, "You stay with us. No arguments." There was a protest on Kim's tongue that Ron's firm tone skewered preemptively. The matter was closed: Yori stayed with them.

They conquered the stairs to their door in silence. It wasn't until they reached the yellowing paint of Apartment Twenty-Six that Ron broke the silence with a grand gesture and homespun fanfare. The tomfoolery almost made Kim smile, until she remembered whom it was for.

He struggled with the lock a moment before throwing the door wide open. Rufus leapt to his shoulder and squeaked a 'Ta-Da' as Run ushered her in. "C'mon. Su casa es mi casa."

The tiny home stared Yori in the face. It was relatively clean, and haunted by garlic and cilantro. A single light buzzed softly overhead, bathing the room in yellow. Yori allowed herself a moment, immersed in Team Possible's living quarters, and then spoke with total conviction. "It is just as I imagined it," she said softly.

Ron scampered about as Rufus settled into his bowl on the kitchen counter for the night. There seemed to be a thousand things Ron had forgotten about that now spat in his face. He quickly swept last night's dinner from its perch on the back of a chair as his foot helped a forgotten pair of boxers hide beneath the futon. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?" he asked.

"No." Yori looked down at her skintight suit and the bundle of robes draped in her arm. The sweaty, clingy spandex was wearing thin on her tired nerves as well as her knees. "But I could use a change of clothes, if-"

"Great." Kim grasped the young ninja by the shoulders and propelled her into a bedroom, speaking instructions in a clipped tone. "You just dig around and find something comfortable that fits."

"But-"

One last shove saw their guest into the room. Kim slammed the door shut, then whirled upon Ron like a hurricane in Florida. "What the hell is going on, Ron?"

A decade of Kim's self-righteous huffing and puffing had immunized Ron to her terrible wrath. He squared his shoulders and shot back, "I could say the same thing to you, KP. You practically threw her out onto the street!"

"Yuh-huh!" Exasperated, she gestured at the ceiling. "That's what you do with strangers who invite themselves in."

"Yori's not a stranger." Scarlet began seeping into Ron's cheeks, though his voice remained low so as not to be overheard. "She's my friend. We met in Japan."

Hands on hips, lips pursed, it was clear that Kim still wasn't satisfied. She closed the gap between them and lowered her tone. "That's odd," she said sarcastically, "I don't seem to recall anything about a geisha in the little bit I've pried out of you about Japan."

That shot seemed to strike home, for Ron's voice rose sharply. "Yori's is _not_ a geisha!"

"See, I'm a little confused about this new policy of ours," Kim continued. "When did we decide it was okay to bring unqualified outsiders on missions?"

"Oh, and Monkey Boy was vital to that trip to New York?"

Kim's argument floundered a moment. "That was different," she insisted. "We were raising awareness on traffic violations, and...Look, the two situations are completely opposite."

"Yeah," he replied smugly, "Yori's actually useful in a fight."

The entire point of the argument spiraled down the tubes, carried away by a flood of mutual anger. "I can't believe you never told me about your little girlfriend. How could you keep something this major from me?"

"I told you already," he said with growing volume, "We're just friends. And since when do I report to you? Do I have to tell you everything?"

The demand struck Kim like a slap in the face. All her anger siphoned away, making way for the sharp anguish that followed. "You used to," she reminded him in a small voice.

A creaking groan froze their heated argument and heralded Yori's return. Kim turned to face the newcomer with words-an apology or another biting remark, she wasn't sure which-already on her lips. But the sight of Yori stole her very breath away, words and all. Instead, she felt her anger returning anew, along with a snappish self-loathing. Ron was speechless as well, but for different reasons; both had been so anxious to yell at each other that neither realized it hadn't been Kim's room Yori was forced into.

"I hope I am not interrupting anything." Yori brushed a stray lock of raven hair behind her ear. As a result, the oversized red pullover hanging from her willowy frame slipped off of one shoulder and revealed flawlessly smooth bronzed skin beneath. The hem of Ron's favorite shirt hung at mid-thigh, letting Yori's tantalizing legs taper the rest of the way to the floor bare. Upon Ron's stare, she blushed lightly, a feat Kim had not seen up to that point. "Is this choice of attire inappropriate?"

Ron did not wait for Kim to speak. He knew too well of his friend's eloquence, and did not give her a chance to launch the tirade he knew lurked beneath her shocked exterior. "Gosh it's late why don't I get you settled in my room I'll take the couch no don't worry I insist." He wheeled forward, merging his thoughts into frantic strips of speech as he bulldozed Yori back into his room as gently as he could. "What a day you should get to bed night Kim!"

The door, in its infinite mercy, saw fit to slam shut behind Ron's retreat before Kim could produce so much as an utterance. Safe within the squalor of his own room, Ron at last relaxed, and let free the rest of his breath held fast in his tight, twisted innards. As with so many other times, Ron pondered the double-faced nature of his luck; once again, he had survived another day of danger and intrigue, only to bring home with him a situation three thousand and twelve times more hazardous than any mere museum heist.

Soft, tittering laughter drew him back to the present with a start. He turned around and immediately regretted it. His eyes rolled this way and that, any direction that didn't take them to the enticing young woman boxed in his room. "Yori," he groaned, once again growing red-faced, "That was totally uncalled for."

Yori's laughter continued as she slunk over to Ron. "I disagree," she said. Much to his relief, her advance halted a few feet away. She stood with arms clasped before her, combining with her exposed skin to form one hell of a pose. "The results were most informative. I do believe there were some aspects of Kimberly-san you neglected to mention. Willfully, perhaps?" The tone carried with it more than a little accusation.

"Kim is...well, she's Kim." There was no explaining it, really, so he didn't try. Even he was somewhat surprised at the force of her reaction. "Besides, that's not the point."

"No." The remaining distance between them vanished, enticing Ron's sweat glands into overdrive. "The point is, we have yet to finish the discussion we began when you last left Yamanouchi."

Suddenly all of Yori's bizarre behavior snapped into context. "The kiss, the jokes, the...outfit," he swallowed hard as Yori smiled, and forced his wandering gaze northward. "You were testing Kim."

"You are correct regarding the jests and attire," she confirmed for him. A light blush arced across her face as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Almond met amber as she stared into his nervous eyes. The tension she felt between them tasted sweet to Yori, exactly the flavor she sought to generate. Now she needed more. "The kiss," she admitted, "Was for me."

Ron saddened, but he remained somber and steadfast. "I'm in love with Kim, Yori. Sometimes I wish I wasn't." He stopped, feeling the heat of her body generate all manner of reactions from his treacherous frame. "Times like now," he added. "But there's nothing I can do about it."

"She does not love you," challenged Yori, "Not in the same way."

"It doesn't matter."

Yori held fast as he tried to break her grip. She pressed herself against him, pushing their union back against the door. "It matters to me," she insisted. "You have stated your case. Now I shall state mine."

"Yori..."

"I intend to observe Kimberly-san carefully." Raw determination steamrolled over the sultry, teasing tone in her voice. "And through my observations, I shall determine whether or not she is worthy of your affections. If she is, then so be it. If she is not," and a glimmer entered her eyes at this, "Then I shall stop at nothing until you are mine."

The bold statement hammered into Ron. "I, uh...I don't...wow."

She smiled. "A ninja does not hesitate: She strikes swiftly, thrusting to the heart of the matter." Her fingers teased the tip of his nose as she added in a coy tone, "You would do well to remember that."

The comment hung between their reddened faces before both of them broke into giggles. Ron allowed his arms to encircle her shapely, slender waist. He rested his forehead against hers, letting their noses touch as he closed his eyes and drank in her scent. "I remember a girl in Japan who could barely crack a pun. Whatever happened to her?"

Yori's smile tripled. "She had an excellent sensei who showed her the true power of humor." Her lips touched against his nose before she said, "I missed you, Ron-kun."

"I missed you to, Yo-chan." For a brief moment, the two teens pushed the rest of the planet away and celebrated their reunion. But it wasn't long before the pressure of the world collapsed their joyous bubble. "Yori," he murmured, "I need to know why you're here. And don't feed me that line you gave Kim. I don't believe it for a minute."

All the joy in Yori's beauty vanished in the space of a breath. She disentangled herself from Ron and instead folded her arms around herself, chasing away an intangible chill. "It is a mission most foul, I fear." Ron had never seen her so upset, and they had been in life-or-death situations together. "Sensei is in need of your assistance."

"Anything for the S-Man." Ron approached her and placed a reassuring hand on her trembling frame. "It has something to do with this case, doesn't it?"

She nodded. "Our way of life is in danger of being extinguished. An outsider seeks the Lotus Blade."

Ron's eyes exploded and his jaw went slack. "You're shitting me."

"I am not." Her whole body trembled as she threw herself to Ron once more. This time, her embrace was a desperate one, as if Ron would vanish were she to let go. "Ron, the Sensei believes that you are the key...and as a result, your very life is in grave peril." A single tear disappeared into the dark fabric of his shirt as she said, "If we do not succeed, you could die."

His arms moved mechanically across Yori's back. Ron desperately wished he could comfort Yori somehow. Seeing the strong, proud warrior reduced to shaking tears broke his heart, but what he really needed was some comfort of his own. There must have been some perfect words, a turn of phrase that could have calmed Yori instantly while restoring his own frayed nerves at the same time. Sadly, Ron's was not an eloquent mindset. Only one thing escaped the jumble of fear and confusion, and like all his other thoughts, he vocalized it immediately.

"Aw, snap."

**To Be Continued**


	5. Winter Wonderland

_All-Purpose Disclaimer_

Kim Possible is my puppet. Dance, puppet, dance!

**Kim Possible**

The Power of Trust

_by Cyberwraith Nine_

Kim's blissful self-delusion lasted a wonderful eighty-three seconds.

The first thirty treated her well. She awoke in her bed, hiding from the morning chill beneath a mountain of blankets. Sunlight filtered in around her shade, shimmering in the air as her eyes fluttered open. For that half minute, she stared at the cracks in the ceiling, letting her senses come to life. The tiny aches all throughout her lithe frame dredged up memories of the previous day's mission, and invariably, of their guest.

Never one to dawdle, Kim tossed aside the covers and braved the cold long enough to find a pair of sweat pants. All the while, her mind began putting itself in order as her body did the same on autopilot. She brushed her hair back behind her ears. She tried not to think of Yori. She twisted the long locks into a ponytail. She prayed it had all been a weird and very vivid dream.

Fifty seconds after she left her bed, Kim had almost convinced herself that this 'Yori' was nothing more than a figment of her imagination. All of the angst her non-crush on Ron generated had somehow created an imaginary girl to screw with her mind. Or perhaps the stress had finally gotten to her. Christmas was little more than a week away, and the ever-mindful, ambiguous 'they' always claimed that stress was at its highest around the holidays. As if she didn't have enough of the stuff in her day-to-day life. Add it all up, and it didn't paint a pretty picture for her psyche. But it did make her fabrication theory hold up better.

In the first half of the eighty-first second, Kim felt safe and comfortable, wrapped inside the explanation her groggy mind had constructed. It seemed invincible, until two different laughs ghosted through her cheap wooden door. One was familiar, and the other was decidedly feminine.

Her door slammed open in the wake of second number eighty-two. Now the sources of that laughter revealed themselves, sitting opposite each other at the counter and sharing a breakfast that wafted even now into Kim's nose. But no smell, no matter how delicious (and it certainly was), could ease the pain as her hastily crafted fantasy shattered at the sight of the stunning girl sipping cider from Kim's favorite mug.

Yes, that eighty-third second really stung.

"Good morning, Kimberly-san." Yori greeted her with a raise of the hearts-and-polka dots mug. She was dressed in Ron's bathrobe, and somehow sat perfectly poised and coifed at the ungodly hour, showing just enough skin to be unbelievably sexy without appearing slutty. "Do you wish to join us for breakfast?" Her tone was warm and inviting as she pulled the stool next to her from under the counter. God, what a bitch.

Kim slid the strap of her frumpy tank top back onto her shoulder and cursed whatever dark gods that gave Yori her power to be so alluring so early. What she really wanted to do was to retreat into her room and primp and pluck until she looked just as good. Or until Yori left altogether. Or better still, she could rush to the Kimmunicator and order Wade to start calling in favors until Yori was 'taken care of'. But instead, she put on her best smile as she stumbled across the room and straddled the seat.

Gentle, kindhearted Ron took Kim's squinty glare as simple morning grump. As such, he did the last thing Kim wanted, and tried to bring her spirits up with his own special brand of Ron-shine. "Mornin', KP!" he beamed. Before she even settled on the stool, a warm mug (but not 'her' mug) of cider clattered to a halt in front of her while Ron assumed his post at the stove. The Breakfast Samurai awaits your orders. What'll you have?"

Her mouth began to water at the thought of Ron's morning meal mastery, until she saw the remains littering the plate next to her, with Yori's satisfied smile hovering over them. She suddenly had no appetite, and said as much. The look of disappointment crossing Ron's features cracked her bitter heart as he shut the range down, making her regret the prideful mistake. But instead of apologizing, she sipped at the cider, which was quite good, and therefore hopefully not of Yori's engineering. "What's the sitch?" she mumbled into her mug.

Yori and Ron shared a smile before she said, "Ron-sand was regaling me with stories of your past adventures." She tilted her head to the side as her grin grew. "Is it true the grapple gun always tore away his clothes?"

"Ah, the grapple gun," Ron said with mock-venom and shaking fist. "My one true foe."

Yori's giggle was like poison to Kim, and worse still was the thought of her imagining Ron in the buff. Kim abandoned her stool with a forced smile and laugh, and stalked over to the window. The curtains parted for her, allowing a dazzling river of light to seep into the dark room. New fallen snow blanketed the streets of their neighborhood, and continued to fall from the carpet of clouds overhead. The sight stole Kim's breath away, and melted some of the ice she had gathered on her shoulder for Yori's sake. "Oh," she gasped, "It's beautiful!"

"Neat!" Ron was behind her in a flash, clasping her shoulders and leaning his head against hers to see better. She could feel him tremble with a child's delight that cut straight through her petulant mood and turned it into a tiny smile. "We should go play!" With his glance back at Yori, Kim felt the joy draining out of his body. "Oh, but Yori doesn't have anything to wear in the snow."

The coy smile crossing Yori's features sent a cold chill down Kim' spine. "Do not trouble yourself. Buddha provides."

Ron's mouth opened to form the obvious question, but his maw was cut short by a smart rapping on the door. The roommates exchanged curious glances before Ron went and opened the door. His Uncle Don stood on the other side, mopping his brow and wheezing. "Ronald! How's my favorite indolent nephew?"

"Still lazy. How's my favorite penny-pinching uncle?"

"Still a tightwad." Both Stoppables smiled as their little ritual came to a close. They swapped brief hugs before Don invited himself in. "So, I trust everything is fine with my favorite tenants on this glorious morning?"

Ron regarded his relation carefully. "Something's wrong, KP. Unc's chipper."

"Probably means he's raising the rent," Kim snickered.

"Ah, not so, Kimberly. Not this month, anyway." His arms encompassed the smallish apartment in a joyous gesture. "I'm simply filled with Christmas spirit."

"I'm a little fuzzy on the whole religion thing," Ron said with a scratch of his corn blond hair, "But weren't you Jewish yesterday?"

"Still am, m'boy, still am. But my broker isn't, and neither are the millions of people buying gifts from all the little conglomerates he put my money into." Don's smile threatened to crack his sun-leathered demeanor. "At this rate, I'll be able to retire in three or four Christmases."

"God bless us, everyone," Kim said with a wry twist. "Did you come up to broadcast this yuletide splendor?"

"No. Seems we got a package for someone at this address. A Miss..." At last, Uncle Don's shifty eyes came to rest on Yori. One of his eyebrows rose slowly as he finished, "Akamatsu."

Yori bowed. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Stoppable. I hope my belongings have not been a bother." If she was at all embarrassed at meeting Uncle Don in her bathrobe, it did not show. Nevertheless, she kept her bow shallow and short to preserve at least some respectability in the elder Stoppable's eyes.

Don's suspicion was acute, but short-lived. "New tenant?" he asked Ron.

"No, Unc." Ron tried to be reassuring has he nipped this potential problem in the bud. He loved his uncle dearly, but the man was a businessman first, last, and several times between. It took a careful hand to keep the family man within him above the surface. "Yori's just a guest."

That seemed to satisfy him. "Well," Uncle Don said with a substantially improved tone, "In that case, welcome aboard!" He took Yori's hand and pumped, adding, "You're welcome to stay here for a long as you like, provided it's no more than fifteen consecutive or twenty non-consecutive days within any given quarter-"

"Unc!" Ron was mortified. He suggested through his teeth, "Maybe Yori would like her things now."

"If Ron-san would be willing to assist me..."

Yori never got a chance to finish. "Nonsense!" bellowed Uncle Don, "No lady's going to hoist her things up and down stairs as long as there's a gentleman still breathing in _my_ building. Come on, Ron."

Ron's halfhearted protests that he was, in fact, not a gentleman died in his throat as his uncle clamped down on his wrist and yanked him through the door. With the men gone, only Yori and Kim were left to drown in the uncomfortable silence. A cough here, a subtle shift of the body there, did little to ease the tension.

"So..." Kim could no longer bottle up her renewed suspicion. "You knew where to forward your stuff?"

"Ron-san's letters provided an address," Yori explained.

Kim grunted. "Awful quick courier service you've got there." Yori said nothing at this.

Groaning and heaving shredded their terse quiet as the Stoppable men heralded their return, lugging an enormous crate between them. The parcel barely fit through as they squeezed into the apartment. Ron's trembling arms set it down as gently as they could, opting to release the load before his red-faced uncle suffered a heart attack. The crate wobbled for an instant until its incredible weight settled.

"You don't...travel light...do you?" Ron said between lungfuls.

As Uncle Don produced a crowbar, Yori admonished Ron with a clucking of her tongue. "A lady has certain needs, Ron-san."

Don heaved back, tearing the side panel off of Yori's crate. As the plywood board toppled over, everyone except Yori found themselves struck with astonishment. Inside the crate stood the most elegant armoire any of them had ever seen. It had been lacquered in glossy obsidian, with ornate patterns of gold laid in the doors. Mystical creatures adorned its carved panels, snarling at those who would threaten the contents of the armoire they defended.

Even Kim couldn't contain her adoration. "It's gorgeous," she breathed.

Yori opened the doors. Inside, a broad sweep of clothes for every occasion greeted her exactly as she left them. She reached in and selected a midnight blue parka with scarf and earmuffs pinned along. "This should do," she said. Then she turned to Ron with a frighteningly close approximation of the puppy-dog pout. "Perhaps you could assist me in relocating this to a more convenient location?"

No matter the source, the pout always melted Ron without effort. "Only after we've had a bon-diggity tour of the area!"

"Ron-san," Yori admonished him gently, "Perhaps it would be best if we did not lose focus of our mission."

It was only when they looked expectantly at her that Kim realized they were waiting for her permission, which she couldn't legitimately withhold. "I talked to Wade last night after you two disappeared." She waited a moment for either one of them to blush or stammer a denial. Neither did, which only made her feel worse. "He's making a few calls right now, trying to get invites to the club. With a little luck, we'll be good to go by tonight."

"And until then," Ron exclaimed, "Let's have us a snowdown!" Everyone in the room blinked at him in confusion. "Y'know...like a hoedown, but with snow. A snowdo-never mind."

Yori folded the parka across her arm with a smirk. "I shall gladly accompany you, Ron-san, if only you will cease making up words."

"Done. You in, KP?"

Whatever ill will Ron had held for her the previous night was gone. A hopeful excitement had taken its place, one that Kim could hardly fight. But fight it she did; it took only one look and a fraction of her brainpower to realize the outing would be two-against-one. She didn't trust Yori, and she hadn't given up the good fight by any means, but every good general knew when to withdraw.

"You two go on ahead," Kim said. "I've got some holiday shopping to catch up on." 'And some reinforcements to rally," she added.

**ELSEWHERE**

"The Idol of Simor." The dark figure's voice rasped in awe of the fragile statuette held aloft in gloved hands. The jade in its paws glimmered in candlelight, sending shimmers of green dancing across its yellowed stone. "One of a kind," the figure added in jest as the Idol was set next to its twin.

The empty warehouse echoed with the hooting laughter of a dozen monkeys. They circled around the idols, leaping up and down in frenzy at the reverent carvings. Each monkey wore a simple black gi, with cloaks to hide their monkey-sized weapons in matching color. Trained for stealth and discretion, they now kicked up a commotion that could wake the dead, or worse, give their lair away.

"Enough." The command was soft, but unwavering. Silence came at once as the half-pint ninjas fell silent.

Though more comfortable than their Himalayan cave, the warehouse they had obtained upon their return to Japan featured far less privacy. It was in a forgotten corner of Tokyo's expanding commercial district, currently between owners and rarely checked upon. The locale was hardly perfect, but it would do for the moment. All they needed was quiet and solitude.

The figure knelt before the twin idols as the monkey ninjas formed a proper circle and joined hands. While the primates remained silent, the figure began chanting softly, and releasing a steady stream of ki into their newest acquisition. The process was no longer unfamiliar, and the first idol encouraged its brother to awaken. What had taken hours before would be only minutes this time around.

'Soon,' the figure thought. 'Very soon, I will no longer have to hide. Then, all the pretenders in the world will be powerless to stop me.'

**AND SPEAKING OF PRETENDERS...**

"I'm coming, Yori!"

"No, not yet," Yori pleaded breathlessly, "Just a little longer!"

There was no stopping him now. "Too late. I'm coming!"

With a frantic scream, Ron charged across the snowy field that now composed Middleton Park with frosty weapons clutched in his raw red hands. Sprinting was out of the question in his cumbersome boots, but once he built up some momentum, he was unstoppable. Yori's waist-high wall of snow was a decent defense against any normal attack, especially with a mighty, naked oak guarding its rear, but his was no ordinary attack. He was Ron Stoppable, and there wasn't an ordinary bone in his body.

The lack of counterattack worried him a little, but he didn't have time to rethink his strategy. As her fort loomed close, Ron launched himself into a spiraling arc that took him clear over the wall. Upside-down, he cocked his arm back and let fly a mighty snowball and another yell. His snowball impacted against the inside of the unoccupied fort as gravity reclaimed him. He touched down on the slick ground and fell on his stomach, sinking into the snow as he stared at the twisted remains of his attack. "What the..."

As he picked himself up and dusted himself off to start all over again, a heavy, cold blow struck him in the back of the head. Reeling, he turned around and received three more in the chest.

Yori leaned against another tree a few feet away. She tossed a snowball between her gloves and shook her head. "You are dead, Ron-kun."

Ron dug the snow out of his hat. "Couldn't have died at prettier hands. 'Course, I was hoping to last a little longer."

She allowed the rest of her ammo to fall to the ground unspent, and brushed her hair back behind oversized earmuffs. "There is no shame in defeat at the hands of a worthy foe," she reminded him.

"Oh, I know that. But I'm not defeated. Just dead." She gave him a quizzical look, and he smiled. "Death from above."

Yori foolishly looked up in time to catch an enormous glob of snow right in the face. Blinded, she could feel a pair of cold, tiny paws drop to her head and cling to her hair. Their owner squeaked a victorious laugh before leaping into Ron's waiting palm.

"You see," Ron continued in a somber voice that clashed with his grin, "I knew you'd outsmart me. You always do. So this time, I planned for it."

Her hands swept the last of the snow from her face, leaving behind wet features that glowed with a mix of admiration and ire. "You sacrificed yourself so that Rufus-san could..."

"The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few," he lectured her, "Or the one."

"Aristotle? Goethe?" she guessed.

"Spock."

"Oh." She considered the words carefully. "He seems a very wise philosopher." A devious grin crept over her thoughtful expression, and she added, "But in battle, I have always favored surprise over philosophy!"

With that, she speared him at the waist in a flying leap. Rufus barely had time to eject as the two teens tumbled in the snow, laughing and wrestling and tickling and playing. They crossed the open field of the park as one.

At last, they rolled to a stop. Yori lay atop Ron, her face barely apart from his. Their laughter grew still as they stared at one another, breathless and red faced. Yori's lips pursed as she closed the gap between them. But she tasted only cheek as Ron turned away at the last second.

"I'm sorry," he said. Yori's heart plummeted as she saw honest shame twist his freckled face.

She pulled away with curiosity, not hurt. "Kimberly-san inspires this much loyalty in you?"

Ron got up as she crawled off him. A nest of snow was an odd place for a heart-to-heart, but putting off the talk any longer would only make it hurt more. "It isn't so much that," he explained, "It's just...Kim's got a big piece of my heart. I've been in love with her since...well, since before I even noticed boys and girls were different." His thumb traced along her chin as he said, "I would never make something with you if I knew I couldn't put a hundred percent behind it. You deserve so much more than that. More than-"

Yori stiffened. "Do not presume to know what I do and do not deserve, Ron-san." Her voice became deadly as she said, "And do not ever question my choice. I have not offered you my heart out of pity, or of ignorance, and I will not allow you to cheapen the gesture with platitudes."

Ron dropped his hand and pulled away. "Sorry," he squeaked, "I didn't-"

She sighed, and placed a hand on his leg to stop his retreat. "No," she said, "I am sorry. I just become so..." She grasped for words in the still frosty air, but none would come so easily. "I cannot understand this spell she has placed you under."

"To be fair, you don't exactly bring out the best in her." The comment returned a portion of Yori's smile. "You just need to give her time. You're both a lot alike."

"If only there were time," she lamented. "After the mission..."

Ron mirrored her sudden gloom. "Back to Yamanouchi, huh?"

"It is where I belong." After some hesitation, she added, "And, perhaps, it is where you belong as well."

"Well, I-juhah?"

The can of worms was already open, so Yori plunged ahead. Taking a deep breath, she began, "Sensei wished me to speak with you about your future. Your destiny." Ron was clearly caught off-guard, and so she took advantage of his silence, speaking in hurried breaths. "He feels that your potential will not be realized without proper guidance. It is his wish that you return with me to Yamanouchi and train as its champion...to become its headmaster."

Ron could not believe his ears. "Sensei wants me to take over the school." He paused, and added, "Me. He remembers me, right?"

Her smile grew a little more, just as he intended. "Yes."

Joking aside, Ron's head swam with the news. Yamanouchi was the last refuge (so far as he knew) of the ninja. The school represented centuries of tradition, and meant everything to the dear friend sitting before him. Such an honor rose beyond compare, but came with a lifetime commitment. "I don't know, Yori. That's one hell of a bomb to drop on me."

"You would be richly rewarded," Yori said quietly, "Were you to accept."

If possible, Ron was shocked even further. "So now bribery's involved? What, like I wouldn't take the job if there wasn't a paycheck included?" He felt deeply hurt. Sensei should have known him better than that.

The rosy color in Yori's cheeks spread forth to fill the rest of her face. "Not money," she said in a whisper. "The school offers you a bride in exchange for your acceptance."

"What?!" He tore the hat from his head, exposing a shock of unruly straw to the elements as he threw the garment to the ground in a rage. "Unbelievable! Who did they corner into this? Ami? Naru?"

"No, they-Why did they come to mind first?" snapped Yori.

"Well, then who is it?" Ron watched her deflate into the snow, blazing bright enough to melt the ground bare. The temperature in his innards plummeted as her averted eyes burned with embarrassment. "No. No, no, no, no no no nonononono! No!" His voice echoed across the park. Snow flew from his feet as he stormed in a circle around her, hands flying and mouth flapping. "Yori, how could you let Sensei force you into something like this? You never-"

Yori ascended in a swirl of white and wrath. She grabbed the lapels of Ron's parka to stop his rant, and pulled him close. "I _asked_ Sensei for this, Chosen One!" She looked close to tears as she said, "Were he to deny me, I would have _begged_ him for such an honor!"

"Honor...Bride..." Ron could not figure just how their merry jaunt had suddenly turned out so screwed up. "Yori, are you even listening to yourself?"

"I am. Are you?"

Ron sweated under the challenge. "You can't just force people to...in America-"

"Your culture," she reminded him, "Is not my culture." She released him and turned away, unable to look at him any longer. Clearly, she had failed in her mission to convince his return to Yamanouchi, a grave dishonor that would haunt her until death mercifully ended her suffering. But worse still was that he had outright rejected her. The steady ache in her chest tripled, and the tears she had been holding back began to break through. "You do not love me."

"I-"

"But do not lie to me. You and I, we have a bond. We share something that you and Kimberly-san never will." She sniffled, suddenly feeling very much like a child. A choking laugh burst from her lips at her own foolishness. "A union such as this blossoms with time. It begins with fondness, and grows through mutual respect into a powerful, lasting love. You and I...are fond of each other."

Ron could say nothing for a moment. For the first time since her arrival, he began to fathom the depths of Yori's feelings for him. No woman had ever given him so much as a second glance, Kim included. Now, one of the most beautiful, impressive, talented, sexy, friendly, funny women on the planet offered to spend the rest of her life with him, if only he accepted the most exciting opportunity a person could be offered.

And leave his old life behind.

Her heavy parka began to tremble, prompting Ron to act. His own inhibitions and uncertainty melted away as he embraced her from behind. His chin rested against her neck, and he was struck at once with her intoxicating aroma, and how it could have possibly escaped his notice before then. Chestnut and sandalwood swamped his senses as he felt her hands grasp his. "Yori," he murmured into her hair, "This is all so much to take in. You can't expect me to know what to do right away."

Ron's hands grew wet with tears as Yori brought them to her lips. "Tell me you do not feel anything for me. Tell me my love means nothing to you, and we shall never speak of it again."

He spun her with a gentle touch, pulling her close. The smell of her hair and the heat of her body spun a thick fog in his mind he could not pierce. He didn't want to. He wanted his response honest, and for Ron, thinking only got in the way of that. "Don't be stupid. You know the sitch."

Yori laughed through her tears. "Stupid, am I? You are a master of reassurance, Ron-kun."

"There's a lot on our plate right now, Yo-chan," he murmured. "Let's take everything real slow, one step at a time."

"You will consider Sensei's offer?" A sliver of hope entered her voice. "All of it?"

"All of it." Ron was a little surprised that he really meant it. One look into Yori's eyes erased that surprise.

Yori sighed and leaned into Ron, resting her head against his chest. It was as though a great weight had slipped from her shoulders. "Then I shall wait, and continue my observations." For the first time since their initial meeting, Ron saw Yori now as a warrior, but as a young woman, as vulnerable and uncertain as he himself felt. She looked up at him with a scared smile. "What do we do in the meantime?"

A new courage took hold of Ron, stifling the timid outcast within him. He cupped Yori's chin with sure hands and bent down. Yori's hot breath spilled over his lips, then into them, as he drove the last of her fears away.

**PRICE CHECK**

"And you wouldn't believe what she was wearing underneath that cloak," Kim insisted as she accepted a Fleecy T from Monique. "I've seen body paint that leaves more to the imagination."

"Mmm-hmm," Monique hummed, plumbing further into the depths of Banana Republic's racks. She would surface only on occasion to grunt noncommittally to Kim's outrage or to hand her a component for a new outfit. Considering the redhead's indignation, which was going on three hours strong, Monique felt safer inside the walls of polyester and cotton blends. But then, Banana Republic had been her sanctuary for years.

Oblivious to Monique's mulling, Kim continued, "And Ron! First he makes out with her right there in the museum. Then they disappear into his room together. And now, today, they're off on some little date all over the Tri-City area. We'll be lucky if they aren't caught going at it like wild monkeys in the park or something." She stopped as Monique laid a miniskirt over the growing pile on her arm. "Are you listening to me?"

"Unfortunately, yes." Monique withdrew from her fortress and looked Kim square in the eye. "I think the Reader's Digest version goes something like this: Yori's a Japanese ninja hooker here to kidnap and seduce Ron, who has somehow become a nymphomaniac in the twenty-four hours since I saw him last, and they're both out to get you."

Kim's bottom lip inflated in an angry sulk. "You don't have to make me sound crazy, Mon."

"Honey," she shook her head, "When you stop sounding crazy-"

"Monique!"

"Look, Kim," Monique sighed, and piled a trio of impossibly cute sweaters on Kim's load. If nothing else, she could weigh Kim down in anticipation of her own escape. "I really don't see what the problem is. So a girl likes Ron. It was bound to happen sooner or later, right?" She scoffed and resumed her hunt. "Besides, why should you care? 'S'not like you like Ron or anything."

Kim couldn't speak for a long moment. Shifting uneasily, Kim coughed, cleared her throat, coughed again, and muttered quickly, "Uh-"

Monique whirled upon Kim with a ferocious smile and a killer tube top. "I knew it. I knew it!" She then proceeded to perform the remarkably annoying victory dance Ron had taught her for just such an occasion. "I was riiiiiiiight!"

The bundle in Kim's arms dropped to the floor as she moved to muffle Monique, mortified at the unwanted attention bystanders were giving them. "Monique, cut it out." Once she had gotten Monique to settle down, she began collecting the scattered clothing before the watchful eyes of the clerks turned ugly. "It's not like that. Not exactly."

"I totally knew it," Monique kept saying. "You are, like, mad jealous right now. Have you told him?"

"No."

The response came quicker than Monique would have liked. "Well, are you going to?"

This time, Kim was a little slower in answering. "No," she said at last.

"No?" Everyone in the store looked their way again as Monique's voice detonated throughout the racks. What are you talking about? Thirty seconds ago you were ready to tear this Yori girl apart, and now you're..." She halted her own rant to rub the bridge of her nose. "Did all that hero stuff finally fry your brain?"

Kim waited patiently for her chance. Now she would take back control of the conversation. "Mon," she asked in a calm tone, "How many of your exes are you still friends with?"

"What?" The question caught her unaware. "That doesn't...I mean, with you and Ron-"

"How many?" Kim asked again.

Monique did a quick mental tally. The numbers weren't favorable for her argument. "But Kim," she pleaded, "You and Ron have been friends for, like, ever!"

"That doesn't make it easier, Mon. If anything, it makes it harder." Kim sighed in defeat, victorious in their argument. "I'm supposed to risk fourteen years of friendship because my emotions decide to go bonkers all of a sudden?"

The tragedy of the situation killed any of the remaining joy in their shopping trip for Monique. She watched Kim's green eyes glisten and swell with restrained heartache. "So what will you do?" she asked quietly.

"I don't know," Kim admitted in a husky voice. "Probably nothing. Wait until it goes away."

"You can't rationalize emotion, girl," a shocked Monique said in a small voice. "And you can't ignore it." Kim said nothing. "Do you know about Ron?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Doesn't change anything." Silence, then, "Monique, I don't trust her. We just came across this big case by chance. Suddenly, this girl Ron knew from Japan shows up with Kung Fu action and claims we're working on the same mystery by coincidence. The longer I talk to her," she said darkly, "The more it feels like she planned on inviting herself into our investigation from the start."

"Is she here for the statue," Monique asked, "Or for Ron?"

"I don't know. Both. Neither." She groaned. "That's what I have to find out."

Monique rubbed Kim's shoulder. "Well, whatever you decide, Kim, I'm behind you a hundred percent."

It was then that Kim's pocket began summoning her attention. Despondent, she withdrew her Kimmunicator. Her voice cracked, "Go, Wade," as the screen flashed on.

_"Got your invites for tonight, Kim."_ The screen split diagonally, pushing Wade's image into the corner to make room for pertinent data. _"But you guys'll have to leave now. Even with the ride I hooked up, it'll take a while to get there."_

A test run of the night began to play out in Kim's head. Yori would be on her home turf, Kim would be busy discussing the missing statue with the club's owner, and Ron...well, Ron didn't have a clue. Yori couldn't be trusted, but Kim couldn't do everything at once.

"Wade," Kim began. A growing smirk chased the last of her sniffles away. "Is there a limit on the invite?"

Wade shrugged, confused. _"They've just got you down as 'Kim Possible and friends'. Why?"_

That dangerous smile turned Monique's way. "You love clubbing," Kim reminded her.

"What? No." Monique shook her head and backed up, crossing her arms. "No way. I cannot fly halfway around the world just to keep an eye on Ron's girlfriend for you."

"What happened to 'a hundred percent'?" Kim demanded.

"A hundred percent doesn't include globetrotting, Kim!"

Kim switched tactics. "Please?" she whimpered, moistening her eyes and drawing out her lip. "Pwease?"

The pout worked its magic. "Ah hell. Okay."

"Ha!" Her features snapped back into an expression of triumph.

"You are such a scumbag sometimes."

Kim ignored the dig and gazed down into her Kimmunicator. "Wade," she beamed, "Have Ron and his little date meet us at the pick-up site. We're going dancing."

**To Be Continued**

_Author Note_

A brief nod to Parareru for providing a bit of inspiration in this story from his fabulous fic, _Ron One-Half_. Go check it out.


	6. Keep On Dancin'

All-Purpose Disclaimer 

Kim Possible ist einen Einschreibe Warenzeichen. Kein Gelt kam von sie für dieses Fic. Siehsts du, Mutti: Ich kann Deutsch schreiben!

Kim Possible The Power of Trust 

_by Cyberwraith Nine_

A pounding bass line buzzed beneath Kim's black mission shirt as her eyes angled upward, past the milling mob crowded around the doorway and up across the smooth obsidian surface of the converted warehouse. The winking, tail-wagging neon monkey mounted above their heads was the only indication they were in the right spot. It occurred to Kim that a monkey-themed club was one of the stupider ideas she had encountered, but the hundreds of people standing about near a set of velvet ropes must have disagreed with her. Judging by the sheer amount of noise coming from within the club, she guessed there were probably an even greater number of deviants from her opinions inside.

Monique's whistle fought through the residual roar of music and into Kim's ears. "Girl," she gushed, "Did I say I didn't want to come?" Her eyes shone with delight for a moment, Kim actually thought she might weep with joy. "I take it all back. This place is so far off the hook, it can't even see the closet anymore!"

"If by that, you mean that it is 'cool'," Yori intoned from beside her, "Then I wholeheartedly agree." She, too, looked around in awe of the club's ambiance and magnitude. The green neon glow of their monkey monolith tinted her golden skin emerald and made her almond eyes gleam even brighter than usual.

Both of the irregulars wore Team Possible mission clothes. Monique possessed her own set, and had earned the right, at least in Kim's eyes, to wear them whenever she pleased. Yori, however, wore a spare set of Kim's, and had no business sullying them as far as Kim was concerned. She seemed to enjoy the attention Ron gave her bare midriff, which made Kim considering purchasing clothes without belly exposure. For Ron's sake, Kim kept her objections silent. It would be easier in a moment; she doubted they would even be able to hear each other in the club.

Kim led the way, channeling her anger into the task of plowing through the locals in their path. Most of them ignored the foreigners. Some of them didn't seem sober enough to notice their own hands in front of them, much less a world-renowned team of heroes. Kim, however, was totally on the ball, and she couldn't help but notice Ron lingering back at the end of their train with Yori. Again, she said nothing, and instead put blinders on.

The classic set of burly goons served as bouncers for The Monkey's Tale, looming behind a velvet rope. They were trussed up in tasteful black suits and sunglasses (which could only have hindered them at three in the morning), but Kim caught the unmistakable stench of stooge on them. And where there was one set, there were ten or twelve waiting in the wings. It set her immediately on edge.

One of the goons tilted his sunglasses forward to examine the approaching teens. He had been turning away those not possessed of the right 'stuff' for the Monkey's Tale with strict, no-nonsense Japanese. Kim and Ron's pale overseas skin incited him to speak in flawless English. "And where are you going?" he asked superciliously.

"Inside." She watched him produce a Plexiglas clipboard and quickly added, "Kim Possible. And friends."

He didn't even bother leafing through the clipboard's extensive lists. The realization of Kim's identity seemed to startle both the bouncers. They tripped over each other opening the violet barrier. "Ms. Possible," one gulped, "Please, go right in. Mister F is waiting for you on the upper terrace. It's in the back, closed off from the rest of the club. You can't miss it."

"Thanks." Kim led the way in, followed closely by the others. They echoed Kim's hollow gratitude, too eager to see the inside to even feign sincerity. The doors yawned open, and a blast of music nearly took them off their feet as blinding, flashing lights beguiled their eyes. They hustled in quickly before any minds could be changed. As the doors snapped shut behind them, Team Possible found itself lost in a sea of late teen Japanese pop culture.

"Oh my God," Monique squealed, and bit into her knuckle to contain the sobs of joy threatening to spill out. "I can't believe I didn't want to come!"

Her sexy hips already worked themselves into the pounding beat, mimicking a sea of scantily-clad dancers. The club was built on three different platforms, rising from the door in steps. Each platform looked to be almost a hundred yards long, and each was packed to capacity with tight leather pants, halter tops, and the tight young bodies to fill them, all rolling as one collective whole. The flashing lights rippled throughout the crowd, interspersed with the flowing lines of glow sticks as they danced between ravers.

Through the haze of machine smoke, Kim caught sight of an elevated box running the length of the back wall, with spiral stairs connecting it to the DJ pit and the massive speakers flanking a hooded individual. It was hard to see, as there were cages suspended from the ceiling, each containing some kind of simian. She silently hoped Ron didn't spot the cages. She didn't need to deal with his ridiculous phobia at the moment. "There," she said, pointing out the VIP section. "That must be it. Let's go."

"Go? Are you crazy?" A pair of rail-thin, washboard-stomached boys with open leather vests and little inhibitions had already paired off, putting Monique in the middle of a hotty sandwich. "You said there'd be dancing. Well, girl, if this is the appetizer," and she chucked a thumb at both her partners, "I am _so_ sticking around for the main course."

Ron piped in, rushing to her rescue. "Maybe we should check the place out." His eyes wandered to a younger girl with a body that would make a Hollywood starlet red with rage and an outfit that would have made Britina blush. She winked a stunning blue eye as she passed him, tossing her snowy hair in his face and glancing back teasingly. Kim's eye began twitching with irritation so violently she missed the same expression of jealousy on Yori's face. "You know…scope out the ladies…I mean, layout."

"Perhaps it _would_ be best if we examined the premises more carefully." Despite her jealousy, Yori seemed excited to be in the club. She pulled closer to Ron and looped her arm around his, jerking his eyes away from the ashen-haired temptress with a tug. "Ron-san and I shall take the left side, while you move through the right. We shall meet by the steps in, say, twenty minutes?"

Kim looked helplessly between Ron and Yori, and Monique's pleading eyes. The blasting music made it difficult to think. In the end, she threw her hands up and shouted, "Fine. Go. See you in twenty. Just be careful."

"Jeez, KP…" Ron seemed taken aback by her attitude. "We're not kids."

"Then stop acting like it." Her green eyes beamed silent disapproval at him. "We're here on a mission, not on a date."

Ron surprised Kim by matching her tone and her eyes. "Funny," he remarked snidely, "I seem to recall you being in favor of inter-team dating. But maybe that was just a Global Justice thing."

Monique watched Kim's mouth flap open and shut, sensing an explosion growing beneath Kim's swishing red hair. She clasped Kim by the shoulder and pulled her away from the pair, forcing a big grin on her face. "Well, better get moving. Sure this club guy doesn't want to be kept waiting too long. See you soon."

"Not if we see you first," Yori called back with an equally false grin. She was already pulling Ron away. The two of them vanished behind a curtain of crowd before either Kim or Ron could think to say anything. By the time Kim found her voice, there was no one left to yell at who deserved it. But that really never stopped her before.

"Did you…can you believe…Oh my God!" Kim's indignant tone carried over even the most powerful to trance tracks. She tossed aside Monique's controlling grip and stomped her feet, glaring at her best girlfriend and thrusting a hand in the departed duo's direction. "What the hell was that?"

"Kim, just let it go." In a happening place like this, Monique was in no mood to play relationship counselor for either Kim or Ron. Was it too much for her to want to find a rich, inexperienced Japanese boy, heir to an enormous fortune and possessed of jungle fever and rock-hard abs? "Maybe you and Ron have been spending too much time together lately. You seem a little stressed out."

"I am NOT stressed out!" Kim twitched.

"Hey, Red." A tripped-out teen holding what Monique was positive wasn't a cigarette stumbled over to the ladies. He giggled, and offered Kim the burning bud with hooded eyes beneath a knitted cap. "Looks like you need to relax."

Kim reached out and snatched it by the burning end, extinguishing its red tip without so much as flinching. She then proceeded to cram the rolled paper up his nose and smack him on the forehead. "Shove it, Smokey!"

Monique followed Kim as she stalked through the crowd, tossing a look back at the boy. "Yeah," she muttered, "You're the picture of calm and collected."

"I just…I hate what she does to him. I hate it!" Her cheeks flushed as they pushed through oblivious teenagers and young adults. An aura of uptight worry hovered around Kim as she parted the dry ice smoke. For a second, it actually looked like she was steaming. "I hate her!"

It had been a long, long plane ride over. Between naps, snacks, and listening to Ron and Rufus turn the folding tray tables into a percussion section, Monique had spent most of the time talking with Yori. Like a good friend, she had done her best to be a frigid bitch to the foreign girl. That lasted as long as it took her to figure out what a charming, fun individual Yori was. They had spent quite a bit of the flight in peals of laughter sharing stories about Ron, much to their victim's embarrassment. "Kim, you know that's not true."

"Yes it is! She's…and she…" Kim hated being wrong, but she hated it even worse when everyone, including her, knew she was wrong. Her shoulders slumped in defeat. "Monique, what's wrong with me?"

Monique patted Kim's back mechanically, scoping out the eye candy passing by, which was, in turn, checking them out. "There, there," she consoled Kim, "You're just crazy, that's all."

Unbeknownst to Kim or Monique, a pair of beady eyes observed them from high above. They caught sight of Kim's flaming red hair among the dark, rolling crowd, then swiveled to find Ron's bright shock of blond sticking out like a sore thumb.

It couldn't be possible. And yet, ironically, that is exactly what it was: Team Possible. He had been far too careful to be caught now, so close to having everything fall into place. But somehow, Kim Possible and her sidekick had caught wind of his plotting, his planning, his machinations, his scheming, his preparations, his scheming, his…

A hairy pair of fingers snapped as he continued to glare out the window.

"Yes, sir?" A voice from behind intoned obsequiously.

"Kim Possible has come," he sneered, "And she has brought her pretender with her."

He could sense the woman behind him stiffening at the mention of Possible's sidekick. Though her hatred for the faux Monkey Master ran deep (one of her most attractive qualities), she kept her voice's inflection calm and servile. "What would you have me do, sir? Would you like her eliminated?"

His eyes narrowed in on the glowing point of yellow standing out in the crowd. "Kim Possible does not concern me. But Mister Stoppable…Let us see just how far he has come."

Ron was unfortunately oblivious to the conversation. Instead, he restricted himself to glaring straight ahead and shoving his way through the crowd. Were he to use the intuitiveness drilled into him at Yamanouchi, he might have noticed the flashing lights in the monkey cages, or the creatures scurry to the tops of their cages to gather up something secured secretly to their ceilings. But bitterness was the only thing pounding through his mind. Even Yori's soothing hand on his shoulder wasn't enough to diffuse the anger Kim's irritating mood put into him.

"Ron-san, I have never seen you so angry." Yori's voice carried across the thrumming beat without effort as her lips drew closer to his ear. She ignored the various catcalls and advances around her and looped her arm through his. Ron would never know he was the envy of every man within eyesight. More's the pity for him, but neither teen worried about that. "You know my opinions of Kimberly-san, but surely one considered your best friend is not the cause of such hostility."

"There's no excuse for the way she's been acting, Yori." His clenched fists began trembling along with the rest of his tensed frame. "I'm so tired of her expecting everyone to fall into line, like she's grand marshal of everyone's life."

"You have always 'fallen into line' before." The words were halfway between a question and a statement.

He stopped, and turned to her. Gone was his anger, replaced with a weight that sagged across his whole face. "I don't know if I can be your Chosen One, Yo-chan. But I'm not the sidekick I used to be, and it's putting a strain on my friendship with Kim."

Soft, delicate hands caressed his cheeks. He closed his eyes and leaned into her touch. Yori marveled at how the suffering on his features melted at her fingertips, and felt her heart swell and flutter. She leaned in close, brushing her lips to his cheek. "What would you do," she whispered, "If you were not a sidekick or a warrior. What would you do if you were simply Ron Stoppable?"

"I don't think I've been _just_ Ron Stoppable since I was four." A wry smile planted itself on his lips.

"Isn't it about time?" He could feel her breath in his ear. "What would Ron want to do, right now?"

His eyes opened and his hands found her arms, pulling her back. 'Kim can handle the mission herself,' he rationalized to himself, 'Just like she always does.' He brushed back a lock of her hair, watching her shiver at the contact. "He would want to dance," Ron admitted, "With a gorgeous girl in a hot nightclub."

Yori pulled back wordlessly as her body began undulating to the beat. Ron did his best to mimic the movements of the men around him, but it wouldn't have mattered if he began jumping up and down on one foot. All eyes were on Yori as the crowd backed up, giving the pair some room as they became the main attraction. The DJ saw the commotion and, taking one look at the pair, put on a slow, sexy track.

Yori and Ron slowed down in time with the music, twisting around each other like serpents. Their eyes remained locked as their bodies intertwined, grinding against each other. Yori's red barrette fought against her wild passion to keep her hair in check as it bounced above her shoulders. She ran her hands up and down her body, closing her eyes and swaying to the beat. The whole world just slipped away, leaving only two enthralled teenagers in a spotlight, and the rhythm they were slave to.

Yori opened her eyes and saw a silent question in Ron's gaze. He asked her permission, and she was all too glad to give it. She swiveled and planted her hips against his, raising her arms as he grasped her waist. His chest pressed against her back and his cheek rubbed against hers, and for the first time since she could remember, Yori felt like an ordinary teenager.

"This is Ron Stoppable?" she turned her head, placing a hand on his cheek to turn his.

They were nose to nose now. The intoxicating aroma of chestnuts made him dizzy with lust. "Pretty much."

"I like him," she murmured before taking his mouth into hers.

Monique noticed the disturbance in the crowd first, and elbowed Kim. The redheaded hero halted her beeline for the VIP room and turned, following Monique's finger to the circle in the dance floor on the other side of the club. "Kim, check it out. Looks like…" A second later, she recognized the pair in the middle of the circle, and watched them play tonsil hockey as the crowd cheered. "Oh…Oh, Kim, don't check it out. Don't…Oh, jeez."

Kim watched the display with a cold, unreadable expression. Her heart grew icy as she watched Yori take yet another piece of Ron and hoard it for herself. "Doesn't matter," she said, "We have a job to do." She glanced over at Monique, who looked like she had just backed over Kim's kitten in a semi truck. The last thing she needed was pity, so she added, "Actually, why don't you chill here a while? Find a boy. Find two. Have fun."

"I'll find three," Monique promised, "And the second-hottest one'll be all for you. He'll be way better than…I mean," she squirmed as Kim's face fell even more. Her bottom lip gnashed between her teeth. "Sorry."

"Go. Have…" Kim stopped. As she stared out past the grinding pair, a glint of metal flashed on the wall. At first, she thought it was just a quirk, until it happened again, and then again. The glints came in twos and threes, moving down the wall. She had seen this glint many times in her relatively short life: The flash of a new blade or the spark of a throwing star when it hit the light just right. "Mon, I think they're in trouble."

"Kim, I know you don't like her, but-"

"No," she insisted, and pointed out the dancing flashes of light moving closer and closer to the pair, "Real trouble!" She caught hold of Monique's wrist and began plowing through the gawkers. "Ron! RON!"

Distracted as he was, Ron could hear snatches of his name being screamed frantically between the beats of the music. He broke off the kiss with a sharp breath, savoring the flavor of everything Yori had eaten in the last few hours as he looked back. Amidst the sea of raven heads, he spotted a fiery mane of red wading through with an upraised hand. Every now and again Kim's face would surface, broadcasting near panic as she bobbed and surged in his direction.

"Kim?" he breathed. He looked to Yori, but she was just as confused as he was. "What's she-?"

"Ron, look out!" Yori pushed him aside with a violent shove. Ron tumbled back as the world spun. He heard Rufus squeak in protest and squish between his thigh and the floor, awakening from his noisy nap. All Ron caught was a flash of silver as Yori reeled back, clutching at her side with a yelp. "Ah!"

"Yori!" Ron was back on his feet in an instant with a push of his hands. The crowd had pushed back even further, widening the circle to accommodate a trio of tiny figures that had joined in on Ron and Yori's dance. They stood little more than half Ron's size, dressed all in black with only twin beady eyes poking through the obsidian robes. Each held different weapons; a katana, a set of tonfas, and a bladed gauntlet. And each possessed a swishing brown tail poking from the back of their robes. "Monkeys. Why is it always monkeys?"

Rufus' head popped out of Ron's pocket at the word 'monkey'. The little rodent's eyes narrowed as he snarled, "Monkeys! Grrrr!"

"Ron-kun, be careful!" Yori called. She looked down at her hand and saw a slick red coat covering her glove. The cut was shallow, but along her stomach, and hurt with every movement. "There-"

"It's okay, Yori," Ron assured her, adopting a tiger stance as the monkeys circled around the wounded ninja and advanced cautiously on him. "I can handle these sorry sacks of hair."

The confidence in his voice fled when another three dropped from the ceiling. One wielded a short, monkey-sized staff, and another swung nunchaku with frightening proficiency. The one in the lead, armed with a series of shiruken, glared at Ron with pure hate and spurred his fellows on with a piercing shriek.

"-are more of them." Yori finished through her grimace.

Ron sighed as the monkeys began spreading out. "Ah, hell."

"Floor show," one addled teen in the audience shrieked delightedly, "Floor show!"

The crowd resumed cheering as the DJ went with the flow, replacing the slow, sexy beats with a high-tempo fight track. Kim's progress was suddenly nullified as the crowd became frenzied once more, rolling and bumping with enough force to shove her and Monique back. Frustrated but far from beaten, Kim brandished her elbows and tripled her efforts. "Hold on!" she hollered above the rumble of the crowd.

Ron caught a monkey paw straight to the jaw as he called out, "Would love to!" He tried to roll with it, only to wind up with a tiny staff in his breadbasket. "Don't think I'll have the chance!" he groaned

"Ron!" No matter which way she turned, the crowd rebuffed Kim's efforts to reach her best friend. In desperation, she pounded at the human wall of pleather and spandex. Angry kids shoved back, then immediately regretted it as she grabbed them and tossed them aside like they weighed nothing. Where one wouldn't move, she simply flipped over, launching off of shoulders and stepping on protesting heads. Monique trailed behind, unable to mimic Kim's moves, but the heroine didn't even notice. No force would stop her from getting to her friend.

The monkeys' weapons blurred together into flashes of steel. So fast were their strikes that Ron had stopped trying to judge exactly what weapon he was dodging at the time. It was all he could do to stay ahead of their blades and blunt strikes. He felt a small swell of panic as the hairy ninjas circled him, forming a waist-high perimeter of death. Whoever had trained them, they had done excellent work; these were by far the toughest monkey ninjas Ron had ever fought. '_How sad is it,_' he thought as a miniaturized katana took several triangles of hair from his forehead, '_That I can compare the different monkey ninjas I've fought? I'll bet Jackie Chan doesn't have to fight monkeys. It's not fair._'

He caught the wrist of the monkey with the tonfas and twisted sharply. The lighter creature flew up in his grasp and spun away, relinquishing his weapons. Armed with the oriental nightsticks, Ron took comfort in the fact that he was now only at a horrendous disadvantage, and not an insurmountable one. "Okay, poo-flingers," he spun the sticks by the handle, adopting a defensive stance, "Who wants to be next?"

The crowd ate it up as the monkeys regrouped, forming a wedge against Ron's one-man stand. They roared and cheered, drowning out all but the bass of the music in approval. Their roars quickly became boos as the monkeys abandoned any strategy and simply leapt onto Ron, knocking him to the floor and pinning his limbs, one monkey to each. The fifth stood atop his chest and raised his katana. Ron watched in horror as a cruel smile stretched the fabric of his killer's mask.

As the blade plunged toward his chest, a blur of red streaked from above the audience, bowling the monkeys from Ron and scattering their numbers. Ron rolled back, on his feet in an instant and reassessing the battle. "KP?"

"Ron," Kim grunted as the staff-wielding simian swung into her block, "Run! I'll handle things here."

"Like fun you will!" Ron hand-sprung behind her attacker and, still propped up on his palms, scissor-kicked the simian into a wide arc that knocked him into the edge of the crowd. Kim collected the monkey's tiny staff and held it as a billy club, watching as all six monkeys regrouped yet again. "I can handle this."

"Since when?" Unconsciously, Kim and Ron drifted apart, preventing the ninjas from flanking them together. It forced the simians to split, sending three each at the teens. "A few karate classes, and suddenly you're Bruce Lee?"

"For your information," Ron grunted, bashing an unarmed monkey in the face with his own tonfa, "I can take care of myself. I don't need you babysitting me."

Kim jumped over a katana and lashed out with her foot, knocking the monkey back as she blocked the other two. "Maybe I like fighting hairy, smelly ninjas. And I know how much you hate monkeys." The other two dropped beneath her crescent kick and pressed the attack, splitting up and striking from either side. It forced Kim up into the air, where her split kick caught one unaware and drove the other back.

"Me?" scoffed Ron as his fist shattered tiny monkey ribs. "Nah, I love monkeys. You should go talk to our contact. He's probably waiting for the great Kim Possible. Better head up before the tea gets cold."

Kim was about to respond with another quip when she felt a tail wrap around her ankle and yank it out from under her. The monkey with nunchaku looped the chains around her wrists and pulled them painfully above her head, stretching her out as the katana monkey landed next to her. He eyed her bare midriff, raising his sword up as if to chop her in half at the exposed, ivory skin.

Rufus spotted the trouble before Ron did, and tugged on his transport's mission shirt. "Kim, Kim!" he squeaked. Ron's own attackers were forgotten in an instant as his eyes swung around, spotting Kim and the deadly situation she found herself in. All his bluster and banter vanished in a panicked heartbeat. "KP!" he cried.

His legs worked on autopilot, launching him into the space between them in an aerial windmill kick. Hairy black robes filled with aching ninjas flew in every direction to avoid his flashing feet. As he landed, his palms snatched the singing blade, stopping it just inches from slicing open Kim's belly. She flinched at the close call, and then gaped at Ron's glare of naked hatred at her would-be killer. The monkey seemed equally as shocked as he put all his weight into the blade. Even with his leverage, the sword didn't waver an inch.

"No one," he snarled, "Ever touches her." His eyes burned with a mysterious crimson light as he twisted the blade from the monkey's grasp and flipped it into the air. His hand and foot lashed out as one, catching both the lead monkey and his nunchaku friend with devastating blows before retracting. The katana fell into Ron's grasp, then snapped across his knee, seemingly without effort on his part.

Kim lay frozen with awe, and a touch of fear. She watched the red fade from Ron's eyes, unable to tell what trick of the light made them so. A dark shape rose above his shoulder, grasping a glinting blade meant for his throat. "Behind you," she managed to cry before a streak of silver flew across her vision. The monkey reeled back, clutching its side and the throwing star buried in it. Both Kim and Ron stopped and followed the star's path back to its origin.

Yori grimaced. One hand remained on her side, putting futile pressure on the bleeding slice across her ribs. The other retracted from its throw. "Watch your back, Ron-san," she called, not noticing the dark shape taking form behind her. It was only when a streak of pink flew past her head that she caught sight of it, and by then, the ninja meant for her was contesting with an amorphous pink mole rat morphing over its face.

"Watch your own," Ron retorted with a smile, watching with satisfaction as Yori knocked the monkey aside and retrieved Rufus from its face.

Dazed, the monkeys regrouped in the center of the circle, watching as the teenagers did the same. Ron placed himself between the monkeys and his girls, snatching up Rufus as his buddy returned to his palm. As Rufus took to his shoulder, Ron glared at the six wounded warriors. Their little chests heaved, and several of them looked to be in terrible shape. Ron jerked forward, snarling, "Boo!"

The fight seemed to leave the monkeys as the monkeys left the fight, leaping high into the air. They bounced off of several delighted members of the audience, making for the walls and vanishing into the heavy shadows of the crowd. Try though he might, Ron couldn't track them with his eye. Instead, he turned back to the girls. His victorious cheer squelched itself amidst a breath of horror as he watched Yori gnash her teeth to quell the moans of pain. "Yori!"

"I am fine," she assured him. "It is just a scratch." Her shirt's hem hung in loosely, torn near the bottom and soaked with blood. Though the cut wasn't deep, it ran the length of her stomach, and refused to stop bleeding. Her tiny hands, stained crimson, could not cover the entire wound.

Wordlessly, Ron went to her side. Rufus scampered across his arm and leapt onto Yori, examining the cut in detail and chattering with a disapproving tone. He remained so intent on her injury, he didn't notice when the music of the club cut out suddenly, or when the lights leapt up to levels of normalcy. He looked back at Kim with a determined expression. Kim saw his features twisted like she had never seen them before, so serious and forceful. This was not the Ron she had grown up with. Loathe though she was to separate the team again, she knew there would be no stopping them, and reluctantly nodded in agreement.

"Clear a path, people!" Ron's voice took on a commanding quality as he led Yori back toward the way they had entered. Most slid aside quickly as Yori's injury became apparent. Several people tried to slap them on the back or chatter excitedly in their ears, eager to meet the night's entertainment and express their admiration. Ron drove them back with a heated glare that could have melted steel.

"Kim! Kim!" Monique squeezed past a pair of gawkers and pushed into the circle. "Are you okay? Where's-" Kim nodded in their direction. When Monique caught sight of the red staining Yori's midriff, she gasped. "Are they all right?"

"Yori's hurt," Kim muttered. "And Ron's…" She paused, thinking of Ron's heated words and fiery temper during the fight. She had never seen him fight so fervently "Ron's fine. He's taking her to get some help."

The crowd's constant chatter trailed off as a loud set of hands clapped slowly. Kim and Monique turned around, spotting someone moving with ease through the throng. Where they had choked Kim's movement, they now parted easily for this new figure moving forward. "That was quite the display, Ms. Possible," a regal tone called from behind the living curtain of people. "I must commend you for driving those ruffians from my establishment."

The tone sounded exceedingly familiar, but it wasn't until the last of the obstructions cleared aside that Kim made the connection. But the shaggy, goateed businessman bringing his gloves together in polite applause, recognizable though he was, only confused her more. "Monkey Fist?" she gaped.

The man's thuggish Caucasian features tugged themselves into a smile as he ceased clapping, and straightened the lines of his three thousand dollar suit. A pair of burly bodyguards, indistinguishable from the bouncers they had encountered at the door. "I'm afraid you have me confused with my ne'er-do-well younger brother, Ms. Possible. Allow me to introduce myself." He bowed at the waist, bringing his arm before him in a gesture of flourished respect. "Lord Gregory Fiske, at your service, my dear. I believe you had some questions to ask me."

"…and now I have a whole lot more," Kim muttered from the corner of her mouth.

**To Be Continued**


	7. The Legend of the Chosen One

_All-Purpose Disclaimer_

Kim Possible loves long walks on the moonlit beach and kicking the ever-loving crap out of bad guys with ridiculous themes. She's looking for a blond, goofy, fun-loving guy who likes hairless pets and hates simians of all varieties.

**Kim Possible **

**The Power of Trust **

_**by Cyberwraith Nine**_

* * *

"More tea, Miss Possible?" 

Kim Possible shifted uncomfortably in a leather armchair that cost more than a year's worth of her tuition as she faced down the living mystery in front of her. The skybox high above the pumping, jiving club was totally silent, soundproofed against even such incredible noise. As a result, every rich, rolling word, dripping with regal British breeding, rang clear as a bell. "No, thank you," she said with a plastered smile, clutching a delicate tea cup and saucer rimmed with gold. "I'm fine."

Lord Gregory Fiske, owner of the Monkey's Tale, and their host for the evening, nodded graciously and turned to his other guest. "And you, Miss…?"

"Just Monique." the girl assured him. She took a sip of her tea, made a ghastly face, and set the cup down. "This is quite the place you've got here. Very…themed."

The 'theme' of which Monique spoke consisted of dozens upon dozens of monkey memorabilia packed into the cozy pseudo-office. Statuettes of all kinds- wood, stone, iron and more- lined the walls on rows of shelves. Pictures of monkeys, more species than either girl imagined existed, gleamed behind immaculate glass frames. The one picture that stood out from the rest was a portrait; A young man, accosted in the finest eveningwear and clutching a tobacco pipe between stubby, hairy knuckles. He was flanked by two young boys, each glaring at the other with baleful force.

Fiske caught sight of Kim's examination of the picture and smiled. "My father, Lord Simon Fiske. A great explorer who discovered evidence of the ancient monkey religions of Japan. I'm afraid he passed on his love for the creatures and the culture to his sons."

"But one son took it a little too much to heart," Kim commented. She took the hint from Monique's reaction and set her tea down untouched.

A small noise escaped the back of Fiske's throat. "Yes," he admitted, "My brother did take our father's legacy too far. It is my greatest shame to be forever linked to that horrid criminal. But family is family, and a Fiske remains true to his own."

The twinge in his eye didn't escape Kim's notice as Monique added, "It must be nice having a cheerleader cleaning up after 'your own'."

"Quite," he said between clenched teeth. His gloves dug into the Corinthian leather even as his smile tripled. "I do owe you a debt of gratitude for curtailing young Montgomery's indiscretions. That is why I have agreed to see you, despite my own busy schedule. But if you wouldn't mind, I'd appreciate it if we could get down to business."

Kim nodded, retrieving the Kimmunicator and setting it between them on the coffee table. On the sly, she pressed a control, suppressing a self-satisfied smirk as a small indicator light blipped obediently to her, assuring her that every word Fiske spoke would be recorded with perfect clarity. She then tapped the center control with a grand flourish, activating Wade's prepared program. Her faithful blue device spat up a shimmering hologram of the missing idol. It rotated slowly, casting its perpetual scowl across the gathered memorabilia of its brethren.

"This statue was stolen from a London museum a couple nights ago." At her verbal cue, a second hologram cropped up, a map indicating the museum's location with a blinking red dot.

Fiske leaned in, resting his chin upon his knuckles. "The Idol of Simor," he remarked with ha raised brow.

"You know it?" asked Kim, leaning in as well. She couldn't quite contain the traces of suspicion in her voice.

He scoffed, continuing to scrutinize the projection. "My dear girl, you came to me knowing full well I am an expert in matters of all things monkey. Let's not play these games, where you try to trick me into revealing myself as the _mastermind_ behind your little mystery. Such pitiful displays are beneath us both."

"Uh, sure." Kim pulled back, flushed with embarrassment. She caught Monique giving her a concerned glance before her friend looked to one side, feigning extreme interest in one of Fiske's trinkets. Gathering her shattered wits, Kim asked, "What can you tell us about it?"

His fingers tapped his upper lip in a thoughtful gesture. "It was carved over two thousand years ago," he said, "Crafted by ancient simian shamen in the Kyoto Mountains. They stood in defiance of the Emperor, believing that true leadership of the Empire should lie with their Chosen One, and so-"

"Whoa, whoa, back up." Monique halted the befuddling procession of facts with an upturned hand and a confused look. "These dudes wanted to put a monkey in charge of Japan?"

Her confusion was met with his own. "I'm surprised Miss Possible hasn't told you of the legend. I imagined her fully versed in the lore, what with her sidekick and all." Both Fiske and Monique turned expectantly to Kim, who found herself a bit off her guard.

"I'm afraid I'm not really sure what you're talking about," confessed Kim. The troubles Monkey Fist stirred up necessitated her passing familiarity with the various totems of monkey magic he threw at them. That hardly qualified her as an expert on the subject. "And what does it have to do with Ron?"

Fiske hummed, intrigued. "Surely you recall your first encounter with my little brother."

She did. "He stole those monkey idols," she reminisced aloud. "He thought they would give him monkey powers, or something…"

"And so they did." A smile teased his lips as he satiated his lips, dry from storytelling, with a sip of tea. The beady eyes beneath his heavy brow shone excitedly as he said, "If the rumors are true, young Mister Stoppable took on the powers of a Monkey Master himself in order to defeat Montgomery."

New possibilities spun through Kim's confused mind. She had witnessed the very things Fiske spoke of, and it still didn't seem quite real to her. "So," she said, "The Idol of Simor can do the same thing as those other idols? It can give a person 'monkey powers'?"

The disbelief in her tone seemed to slight the Englishman. "No," he sniffed. "Though I am loathe to add to your mysteries, Miss Possible, the Idol of Simor was created as a means of safeguarding the powers and position of the Chosen One."

"But what does it do?" pressed Kim.

His helpless shrug was a far cry from the answers she sought. "No one really knows. My own limited experience aside, there simply isn't enough research existing on the cult. I'm afraid you've fallen in with a very eclectic nemesis, my dear."

"Maybe it doesn't do anything," Monique suggested hopefully. With a nervous laugh, she said, "I mean, maybe these shamen just made something for fun. Thought it would look good on the curio shelf."

Fiske scolded her with a derisive snort. "Hardly the pastime of the masters of the mystic monkey arts," said he. Then he paused, as if trapped within an inner debate. When at last his lips parted again, the words they carried were impassioned, not scornful. "There do exist some theories," he admitted. "Some, myself excluded, believe that the Idol acts as a conduit. In the event an undesirable obtained powers via the four statues," and his voice rose to an excited pitch, "The shamen could use the Idol of Simor to channel that power from him and into another, more worthy vessel."

The tail end of his ardent speech struck both girls into silence. It was only when he caught sight of his own upraised, quivering fist that he realized the fire and brimstone slipped into his voice beneath his notice. Gently as he could, he lowered his hand and covered the rips in his glove's knuckles where his meaty fist had split the material.

"Okay." Monique pretended to scratch her face, camouflaging her lips as they mouthed the word 'psycho' to Kim. Feigning a cough, she lowered her hands from her face and gave their host a sugary smile. "Not for the curio shelf, then."

Uneasy silence pervaded the VIP room until Kim cleared her throat and stood. "Well," she said, "This has been a real treat. Thank you for your time and your help. If you should think of anything else-"

He stood, regaining his composure in a flash. "Please, just a moment."

His fingers snapped. Not a half-second later, the room's door swung open in a burst of noise as it admitted one very good reason Kim was glad Ron wasn't still with them. The reason strutted on four-inch stiletto heels. Shapely calves and thighs worked the stilettos back and forth, wrapped in a slinky black dress too short to be considered a miniskirt. The dress' spaghetti straps and generous V neckline left everything but her modesty on display.

"You called, Master Fiske?" the young Asian woman stopped before the three and bowed.

Kim eyed the ample cleavage on display and unconsciously hugged her own chest as Fiske nodded and said, "Tsuruko, begin calling our contacts- the art dealers, the collectors, and the Asian Archeological Society- and ask for any information regarding the Idol of Simor." He favored the girls with his brightest smile yet. "Should anything turn up, I will be sure to contact Team Possible at once."

Monique caught sight of a small shape near Tsuruko's collarbone. "Nice ink," she commented, eyeing the tiny silhouette of a monkey on the woman's flawless golden skin. Tsuruko said nothing, not even registering Monique's comment, and instead kept her eyes glued to Fiske's feet in ingratiating reverence.

Kim herded her friend toward the door, eager to leave. "You've been a big help, Kim assured him.

He nodded, escorting them to the door. "But of course. That Idol represents a profound part of my heritage, to say nothing of its importance to the scientific community. For all our sakes, I wish you the swiftest of successes." His intact glove wrapped around the doorknob as he gave them a tiny bow. "If there is nothing else?"

"No…wait. Yes." A sudden thought struck Kim, pulled from earlier in their conversation. "That power those other four idols gave Monkey Fist and Ron…once the idols were destroyed, the power disappeared, right?"

It seemed Fiske had been waiting for Kim to ask that very question, for his smile blossomed into a genuine one. "My dear," he said, "The idols channeled a great deal of magic into their users. Once they were gone, the raw force of that power evaporated, to be sure. But once one has been touched by such an amazing force, they will never be the same again."

Team Possible exchanged gratitude and goodbyes with Fiske, then left. As the door swung closed, so too did Fiske's smile seal itself shut into a disaffected scowl. He returned to his armchair and sipped at his tea, too deep in thought to truly appreciate the flavor. The caterpillar brows on his forehead danced together, tangoing with concern.

Tsuruko bent over and retrieved the forgotten cups and saucers. "The girl worries you, Master." Dark waves of raven hair curtained her face when she looked up at him.

His hands folded across his chin. "The wise chess master watches all his enemies' pieces."

The Asian beauty straightened. A flash of contempt marred her delicate features. "Kimberly Possible is nothing," she spat. "Our only concern should be Stoppable." The china trembled in her grasp. "The Pretender-"

"-is but half of the equation. You have studied our opponents, and yet you willfully ignore this." Fiske gazed upon her with disappointment. "You forget yourself, Apprentice."

Shame flooded her anger-clouded eyes as she bowed again. "I have dishonored you, my Master."

He waved the indiscretion away. Whenever she bowed, dressed as she was, his absolution was never difficult to earn. "You are forgiven." The last of his tea vanished, and he handed the cup and saucer off to her. "It matters not, at any rate. She was fishing. And now it is she with the hook in her mouth."

"Your metaphors," she intoned, "As always, bring clarity to my confusion, my Master."

"Patience, Apprentice," Fiske chided her. "You must learn patience. In time, Kim Possible will assist us without ever becoming aware of our true intent."

**

* * *

**

The door to the apartment swung open at Ron's foot, carrying with it a naked mole rat on the doorknob. Lights stuttered on above them as the slender finger of the girl gathered up in his arms flicked the yellowing switch on their way in. Behind them, Kim and Monique lingered in the doorway.

"Home, ho-ho!" Rufus squeaked in delight as he bounded from the door and scurried up Ron's pant leg.

"Ron-san," Yori sighed, "There is really no need to carry me." Her head rested comfortably against his chest, her eyes half-lidded and her arms wrapped around his neck. Kim had never seen her look so content. Hours ago, the sight would have set her on edge, but now all she felt was cold and empty.

Ron took her over to his bedding on the couch and lowered her to the cushions with uncharacteristic grace. A look of mutual disappointment crossed the electrified air between them as she pulled away. "You have to take it easy," he insisted, brushing the hair out of her face. "You're hurt."

With a squeak, Rufus ran down Ron's arm and clung to the couch with his tiny claws between the cheap fabric, examining her for signs of further breakage or injury. "Rest, uh-huh, uh-huh!" chattered the mole rat in a scolding, motherly tone.

Her smile sucked the strength right out of Ron's knees. "My legs are fine." She pointed to her legs, wrapped tight in olive cargos and unharmed. A series of butterfly patches lined the side of her exposed midriff, clean and white against her golden skin. The taut lines of her stomach trembled at his touch. "It is only a scratch."

"I'll be the judge of that," he harrumphed. Her cool skin bled the warmth from his fingers. "I happened to ace Advanced Anatomy back in high school."

"Really." Yori looked at him with a skeptical smile.

He shrugged. "Actually, it was Health Class, and I got a D."

"D-plus!" Rufus reminded him.

"That's right. I passed, and that's what matters." He shook a reproving finger at her with one eye clenched in a ridiculous squint. "So I'll have none of your sass, Miz Sassypants Sasserson. You'll take your pampering and you'll like it."

A miniscule rumble of approval rolled from Monique's throat as she appraised the pair from the door. Her eyes glistened with the spark of a predator. "New Hotness Ron," she murmured, "Now with forceful, attentive attitude. Wonder what other accessories the new model-"

"Monique." Kim couldn't tear her eyes away from the gut-wrenching scene. The tiny, righteous voice of indignation within her screamed bloody murder, demanding swift, brutal justice against the impudent harlot. Take action, Possible, do something, anything! But she could muster no reaction, not even a twitch. "Don't," she whispered hoarsely.

The plea cut through Monique's bemused detachment, and she bled sympathy. "Kim," she said, "You gotta make a call, one way or the other. If you don't want him, you have to let him go."

The words 'I know' might have ghosted past Kim's lips. She wasn't paying close enough attention to be sure.

Ron and Yori shared a laugh, the intimate kind of chuckle he and Kim hadn't shared in too long. Glancing over, Monique was shocked by Kim's stony demeanor. "He'd be yours if you wanted, you know. Yori wouldn't stand a chance."

Kim watched the ease with which they touched, the way that they looked at each other. "It isn't my choice to make anymore," she mumbled.

The laughter between them died down, and Ron pulled away with Rufus in tow. His endearing smile settled into determination. Sensing his intent, the girls led the way into the hall. Ron caught the door and closed it gently behind him. "What's the sitch?" asked he.

Kim and Monique recounted their interview with the club owner to Ron. The part-timer of Team Possible spoke in animated tones, waving her hands about excitedly. Kim barely spoke a dozen words. At the mere mention of another Fiske, Ron looked like someone had dropped a lead weight on his foot. He fidgeted uncomfortably through Monique's wild account of Fiske's storytelling, until-

"He got this crazy look in his eye," Monique said, goggling her own eyes with her fingers. "And he started going on about this 'Chosen Guy' stuff. He even mentioned you."

"Me?" Ron couldn't fathom the concept. "Name and everything?"

She nodded. "Name and everything. He seemed pretty interested in the 'thing' you and Monkey Fist got going on."

"It's not a 'thing'," he grunted. "I just happen to attract monkey-themed villains, that's all."

"Well," interjected Kim, "I think you've got another one to add to your club, then. Those ninjas didn't appear out of thin air."

Trembling rage seized Ron's fists. "They were testing us."

"We might be in for a tougher fight than with Monkey Fist. I've never seen a monkey ninja fight like that," said Kim.

Monique yawned into the back of her hand, rubbing at the sleepiness in her face without effect. "Maybe they just had something really worth fighting for." Kim went scarlet as Monique rose on her tiptoes and kissed Ron on the cheek. "Night, Romeo. Good hunting, Kim," she added with a wink before swaying down the hall.

Ron rubbed his cheek where Monique's lipstick still tingled. "What was that all about?"

"I don't know," Kim said too quickly.

Her voice dropped off beneath his scrutiny, but he thankfully had no more questions on the matter. Instead, he leaned against the wall, feigning nonchalance as he said, "So what do we do now?"

"Plan?" Rufus squeaked in agreement.

"We watch Fiske." Her eyes lingered on the floor, dull and lifeless. "There's no love lost between him and his brother. I think Fist got it right on the first try. I'll set up a ride with Wade and start tailing him tomorrow."

"Alone?" Ron's surprise became irritation at her slight nod. "Since when are you a solo gig?"

Her emerald eyes turned to ice as she looked up, straight into his freckled fury. "You've had other things occupying your time lately, Ron."

"What is your deal, Kim?" he demanded, throwing his hands into the air. "When are you going to get off our backs?"

"Maybe when you start telling me the truth." Kim met his bluster with a cold gust of defiance, though the tone of her voice never strayed from its accusative calm. "Maybe when you tell me why she's really here, or how you really know her. Maybe," she said, getting into his face, "When you stop lying and start acting like a friend."

"You…" Ron's argument began falling apart in his very hands, but he struggled onward. "You never trust me."

"How can I?" The ice in Kim's throat cracked. "You never trust me."

The point was won to Kim, and so Ron was forced to switch tactics on the fly. "Everything is about you, isn't it? Your little sidekick comes into this blind lucky, one-in-a-million piece of good fortune, a girl who actually likes him, and you can't leave it alone, can you?"

"What happened to you in Japan?" Kim would not let him stray from the argument. She would not be denied. "It changed you."

Even Rufus gasped as Ron said, "I'm not just your sidekick anymore, Kim." The little naked mole rat fainted dead away off of Ron's shoulder, plopping onto the brown carpet below.

A lum caught in Kim's throat, shattering the ice. Her voice died on its way out, barely a whisper. "No," she croaked, "I guess you aren't." She looked him up and down, impassive, as if examining a used car for defects. "She brings out something in you," remarked Kim, "and I'm not sure I like it."

Words tumbled from his mouth before Ron even realized what he was saying. "Then maybe I should take it somewhere else." Foul silence settled between them. The only sound Ron heard was Kim's sharp intake of breath. She looked at him expectantly with wide, horrified eyes. "I…Yori's asked me to go back to Japan. With her. To…study abroad."

Something inside Kim screamed and died. She tried so hard to remember Monique's speech about fighting, but all she could hear were Ron's awful words rotating around and around inside her screeching mind. "May…maybe that would be best," she managed.

Ron tasted bile in the back of his throat. He staggered back as if struck by a devastating blow. Any number of things came to his mind. He wanted so badly to explain everything to Kim, to apologize for being a pigheaded jerk, to tell her why it was so hard to be around both her and Yori at the same time, how torn and awful the feelings he had for them both made him. He wanted to tell her the truth more than anything, but all his mouth could make was a grunted, "Whatever," before his legs carried him back into the apartment.

Kim felt a gust of air as the door slammed behind him. Her hand reached out, grabbing at the wall to keep her from toppling over. A wave of nausea clenched around her stomach as the strength fled from her legs, transforming them into rubber. The cool wall felt good against her hot face, pressing against her flushed cheeks. The professional within her tried to break through the emotional tidal wave. Get the Kimmunicator. Call Wade. Set up a ride for tomorrow. Get it in gear, Possible.

Rufus, revived from his shock, crawled up onto Kim's knee and poked her in the leg. "Huh? Kim?" His tiny head tilted, looking up into her despondent face.

"I will," she answered her inner demands aloud, closing her eyes against the overwhelming heat burning in every one of her joints. Everything between the points of fiery pain was deadened and unresponsive. "I just need to rest…" Her head sunk to her knees, where Rufus nuzzled his whiskered nose against her face and whimpered. Limp tendrils of red spread across her legs, blanketing her face in darkness. "Just until it stops hurting."

Inside, Ron stumbled into the kitchen. Nothing seemed clear anymore as his eyes burned and blurred. He caught himself on the counter's edge, leaning heavily until the world decided to hold still.

"Ron-kun? Is that you?" Yori's voice called from the living room, "Are you all right?"

He crossed the room with leaden steps, making it to the couch through some small miracle. "I'm fine," he lied, digging his fingers into the cushioned back.

Her lustrous hair danced as she shook her head. "No, you are not." She considered him with her almond-shaped amber eyes, and came to a decision. "Come here." Ron circled the couch and knelt before her, letting her take his hands with gentle firmness. Yori pressed his palm against the butterfly patch on her stomach, unable to prevent the slight hiss from escaping between her teeth. She waved off his concerned confusion and commanded, "Close your eyes." Once his eyelids fluttered shut, she did the same. "Now," she whispered, "Find your center."

Ron felt the world slip away. The floor dissolved beneath him, and the air boiled away as he and Yori fell into a place without sound, a place without light. Even their bodies vanished, leaving only the connection he felt with her.

"Feel your center," Yori's dismembered voice echoed. "Let it spread to every part of you."

Warmth began trickling all throughout him, filling every last nook of his soul. Once it spread, it began funneling itself into the point where his spirit connected with hers. The sensation felt unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was fire and electricity surging together, but since he had no body, it could not hurt him.

"Now," she urged him from rose petal lips that no longer existed, "Find the tear. Will it to close."

There it was, a rend defacing the fabric of her spirit. Cautiously, he grasped at its edges and pulled, trying to draw it closed. The tear would not budge.

Yori grunted in pain. "No, Ron-kun," she whimpered, "Do not force it. Command. The spirit can overcome the substance."

Her pain gave spurred him into action. With renewed focus, he ceased his ham-fisted astral pawing and tried again. This time, he focused his wayward thoughts. His entire being became a single thought: Mend.

"Yes," Yori cried as the rend knit itself whole again. His energy poured into her being, stimulating every fiber of her soul into new life. "Yes, that's it!" With one final burst of power, the process completed, sending a wave of cool ecstasy into them both.

Ron opened his eyes, feeling drained and disoriented as the physical realm reasserted itself. His whole body ached, but the soft smile he saw on Yori's face gave him the strength to return it. "What was that?" he asked in a hush.

Yori's smile grew. She released his hands, reluctant to let him go, and slipped her fingers beneath the edge of her wound's dressing. "See for yourself," she said, and peeled the butterfly patch away.

Ron's eyes widened at the fresh, pink skin where her nasty cut had been. It might have been a trick of the light, but he thought he saw lingering wisps of red and orange teasing the line of new flesh. Already, the pinkness of her scar faded fast to match the rest of her golden skin. "How did you do that?" he asked breathlessly.

"I did not." Yori retook his hands and pressed them into her stomach. "You did. I simply guided you along the right path." She saw the hesitation in his eyes and squeezed his hands, dipping her head to meet his gaze. "This is but a fraction of the power you carry." Then she frowned, unable to grasp his attention away from his inner demons. "What is it?"

His fight with Kim still fresh on his thoughts, Ron said, "We may have found the guy who took the idol."

The gloom in his eyes confused her. "This is not good?"

Ron swallowed. "Kim is asking a lot of questions. She wants to handle this alone. She doesn't trust us."

"Oh." Yori could think of nothing else to say.

"Can't we just tell her?" Ron exploded with the words, unable to contain them any longer. Now he squeezed Yori's hands, desperate to find her eyes with his pleading look. Yori's face fell with sympathy, inciting him to whine louder. "We can trust her! KP's-"

"Ron-san. Don't." Yori looked away, lest his disappointment sway her. "I am bound by the same oath as you are. The secrets of Yamanouchi are not ours to share. You know this."

"Yeah." He brushed the hair from his face and stood up. "But we can't let her face this alone." His disappointment gone, now only resolve shone clear on his round face. "I won't let her."

A hint of smile returned to Yori's features. "What happened to the meek sidekick," she asked, "Who came to Japan without knowledge enough to differentiate a katana from a casaba?"

"He had an excellent sensei," he said with growing strength, "Who taught him who he really is." Ron turned to Yori, his soft countenance stony and cold. "I've made my choice, Yo-chan. Starting now, the Champion of Yamanouchi is on the job."

**To Be Continued**


	8. Gorilla Fist

_All-Purpose Disclaimer_

Kim Possible is very sorry for the great delay in her activities. She attributes it to last semester's burnout, which resulted in a three-point-five frikkin' GPA!!! Yaaaay! But now she's better, and is ready for more adventure. Enjoy!

* * *

**  
Kim Possible  
****The Power of Trust**

_by Cyberwraith Nine

* * *

_

"Respect. Independence. Control. All of them simple expectations we take for granted in our everyday lives. All of them denied to people just like you in Imperial Japan, for lack of one simple thing: Power."

Seated in an auditorium among three hundred other students, Kim Possible fought the overwhelming urge to itch at the hem of her black wig. Far worse were the itchy knee-high stockings and breezy, frilly skirt teasing her knees. How could Japanese students stand wearing these awful accruements every day? It didn't look nearly so uncomfortable in the animé Ron had forced her to sit through.

Ron.

She chastised her treacherous thoughts and focused instead on pretending to take notes in the Hiya Tabby notebook tragically included in Wade's equipment package. That package, which also came with the disguise she now wore, was almost enough to convince her to post a want ad online for a new gadget freak. As if she could ever find someone even half as good as Wade. But did her damn wig have to itch so much?

At the head of the auditorium, Lord Montgomery Fiske stood behind a lectern, which rattled at his enormous fist's blow. "These people were patriots, persecuted not only by the pompous ruling class, but by those humble peasants they sought to liberate. Even today, they retain the scorn and prejudice of the ignorant. They are misunderstood, these masters of the Monkey Arts."

Again with the Monkey Mastery crap. Over the past two hours, Kim had listened to Fiske ran on about monkey this or magic that. All the while, Kim kept a low profile. Behind Fiske, his assistant kept watch over the crowd. She was dressed in a business suit that was far more conservative than her choice of attire the night before, but that same scowl remained stuck on her face, and it swept across anyone foolish enough to let their attention drift. Even with the black wig, Kim knew her foreign features stood out, and so pretended to pay very close attention.

Sensing the last of the students' interest fade, the professor rose from his seat in the front row and muscled Fiske out of the way. "Thank you, Doctor Fiske, for your, ah, thorough lecture. If there are no questions?" There were none. Everyone seemed as eager to escape the monkey madness as Kim was. "Thank you again, Doctor Fiske."

Kim waited for the other students to rise before she gathered her Hiya Tabby school things and put them into her Hiya Tabby shoulder bag. "Wade," she hissed, "Are you still transmitting?"

_"As if there could be a doubt,"_ Wade's voice sang from the flesh colored earpiece hidden behind a curtain of dark hair. _"Seems like my Yak Patch is working fine, too."_

She resisted the urge to fiddle with the paper-thin microphone secured to her throat under a latex patch and camouflaged with cover-up. "Like a charm." Up at the front, Fiske watched his assistant gather up his things and file them away in a polished leather briefcase. The Professor's attempts at pleasant conversation went unanswered as Kim's two targets made their way up the aisles. Lacing her shoes became paramount to Kim as the pair walked past, though she did keep one eye glued on that assistant of his through the gaps in her wig. "They're on the move," Kim hissed, inaudible to everyone but herself and the mike at her throat.

_"Roger that."_ Kim heard typing in the background, followed by the sound of a slurping straw that made her cringe. _"You still haven't gotten those tracers on them?"_

"No," Kim whispered, stuffing the last of her things down the smiling cat's zippered mouth. "I was busy taking notes on mountain hermits with fetishes for prehensile tails."

"Yeah," balked Wade. "Snippy much?"

The bag flew over her shoulders and boffed the timid girl square in the face as she tried to circumnavigate Kim's bodily obstruction of the row of seats. "Not today, Wade. This is the ron day to screw with me."

_"Huh?"_

People milling about stared in mute fascination of the bold foreigner shoving her way through the crowd and talking to herself. "I said it's the wrong day to screw with me!" she snapped. Several boys tripped over each other leaping out of her way, scalded back by the green fire in her eyes.

_"Sorry,"_ said Wade. _"Are you sure you're okay to go solo?"_

"Just have a cab waiting outside."

_"Done."_ There was a pause, and then he said, _"I need to sign off for a little while. Independent consulting gig."_

Kim grunted. "Don't go far. I'm expecting trouble."

_"Expecting it, or hoping for it?"_ was Wade's last message before she heard the line click dead. It irritated her to realize she really wasn't sure which one was true, either.

* * *

A pair of black dots clung to the ceiling of the lecture hall, suspended by climbing spikes and aching muscles. They were invisible to the oblivious crowd below them, cloaked in a technique as old as the pyramids and far more mysterious. Thousands of years' worth of tradition adhered them to the ceiling, and determination kept them there. 

One of the shadowy figures turned to his companion and breathed, "I have to pee." She gave him an irritated stare before rolling her eyes back toward the floor. "Well, I do. We've been watching him all day, and, well, nature does its thing even if Fiske won't do his."

"You should not have finished the coffee in his penthouse." She chided him so softly that the noise from the air duct a few feet away, their entrance into the room, nearly drowned her out.

He shifted ever so slightly, trying to keep the cramps in his muscles at bay. "I was sleepy," he said. Truthfully, he knew there was no excuse for slipping into Fiske's penthouse condo and drinking the last of the tycoon's imported coffee from one of Fiske's hand-crafted crystal mugs while the millionaire showered and his assistant skulked about the place. But it had been funny.

"And now you have to pee?"

"And now I have to pee."

She watched Fiske and his assistant stalk down the aisle at the conclusion of his lecture. As of yet, they hadn't gotten close enough to the pair for Fiske's familiar-ish assistant to come into clear focus, but something about her rang in her memory. The regal strut her shapely hips flaunted as she fell into step behind her employer tickled something just out of reach in the ninja's past. "Hold it in. They're moving."

Her partner's legs began to tremble. "Can't I just set off the fire sprinklers and, y'know, sneak it in?" he pleaded.

She began working her way back to the air duct slowly so as not to draw notice. During the sluggish process, she spared a heated glance back in his direction. "This, she harangued him, "Is not the manner in which a Champion of Yamanouchi comports himself."

"Hey, what can I say?" Ron waited until she had reached the duct before starting for it himself. Once her eyes met his, he grinned through the black fabric stretched across his mouth and said, "It's my first day on the job." Her almond eyes became stern, but the twitch beneath her own mask broadened his smile.

Regaining composure, Yori cleared her throat and said, "Rufus-san, if you could attend to the ventilation-"

"We have got to work on your conversational English," sighed Ron. "Rufus: Grate." The sleepy mole rat crawled from his warm, safe pocket in his buddy's robes and scurried across the ceiling with his charcoal claws. The millimeter slits of the ventilation grate were no problem for Rufus, whose body flowed like warm gelatin through the breezy metal. His teeth clanked, rattling softly until he pulled them through.

As Rufus worked the tiny screws on the ventilation screen loose, Yori observed the crowd below. Throughout the lecture, she had kept watch over the gathering for a flash of red among the black and brown student scalps. She knew Ron was doing the same, for his eyes kept wandering, even when he spoke to her. "I did not see Kimberly-san. Perhaps she did not-"

Ron's eyes narrowed. "She's here."

Yori's eyebrows shot up. "You have seen her?"

"I can feel her." The humor drained from his voice, leaving only mountainous ice. Somewhere, amidst the sea of Tokyo U students, Ron could sense her familiar presence lurking about. The fact that he couldn't see her was proof positive of just how good she really was. "She isn't far."

She smiled once more. "You trust your instincts. You truly are our Champion."

The screws on the grate finally worked out, falling into Ron's outstretched hand. A tiny squeak of protest rattled as the grate swung down, revealing Rufus with a toothy grin. "Ta-da!" he squeaked.

"I'm sure trying," Ron grunted, and shimmied over to the opening. "Now let's catch up. I don't want to lose kim."

She did a double-take. "Pardon?"

"I said we should catch up before he gets away." His body disappeared into the vent, leaving only his cloaked head to glare back at her. "I don't want to lose him." Then his chestnut eyes flashed and faded into the darkness of the vent, out of sight like a true professional. The gaze carried with it such potency that it was several seconds before she could move again to follow him.

* * *

"Another warehouse. Great." Kim put down her binoculars and shivered against the bitter wind tearing through her mission clothes. Even though she held no lost love for the miniskirt of her shucked student disguise, her olive cargos weren't much better at warding off December chills. Parkas weren't much good on steal missions, but she was certain she would have taken the biggest, warmest jacket she could find in exchange for making herself a triple-sized target if someone gave her a redo. 

She stood on the sandpapery, tarred rooftop of one of the very buildings in question, continuing her surveillance of the target in total misery. Bad enough she had been forced to watch him eat a thousand-dollar lunch at a private bistro while she sated her hunger with saltine crackers and a canteen of tap water. Now she had tracked them to some expansive field of the accursed buildings. She was so sick of warehouses. Maybe he had to check on his private jet, or maybe he was checking out a possible site for a new night club. Who knew what the wealthy did when they got bored?

Fiske exited his limousine, allowing his assistant to open his door. 'When you're rich,' Kim mused, 'You must forget how to work doors.' The pair walked among the tall, boxy buildings, unaware of Kim's observation. They also seemed unaware of the biting cold outside of their long, dark coats, for which they earned Kim's spiteful envy. Instead, Fiske's gaze roamed about, never lingering on any one spot for more than a second. Either he owned (or planned to own) several more of the buildings and was inspecting them all, or he was nervous.

The latex patch on Kim's throat buzzed at her touch. "Wade, check with city registry. How many of these buildings does our friend own?"

Clacking keys preceded his answer. _"None,"_ Wade said, surprised. Kim lifted the binos back to her face and relayed the warehouse numbers to him as she watched Fiske enter through a side door and disappear inside_. "According to the registry, that warehouse has been condemned. Termite damage."_

"Do tell." The binoculars found their way back onto her belt as she swapped them out for her grapnel gun. She double-checked the CO2 charge on the device. Its red casing felt cool through her thin gloves. Memories flashed behind her eyes, back from the days when Wade (and his sick sense of humor) designed her equipment to appear like mundane items. Memories of her old hair dryer grapnel always brought with them the sound of ripping pants and a high-pitched, horrified male shriek.

'Yow! It's cold out here, KP!' Ron's voice howled from behind her. She turned around, expecting to find Ron, pantsless and with a misfired grapnel gun. Instead, there was only more frostbitten wind waiting to scrape her cheeks raw.

Kim chastised her mind and ousted any thoughts that weren't of finding out what that sleazy Englishman was up to. She had dealt with more monkeys, ninjas, and monkey ninjas in her eighteen-year-old life than even the most exciting of adventurers ran across in collective lifetimes. And here she was, potentially throwing herself into yet another monkey mess. That alone was proof positive of her growing concern for her psyche, as if hearing Ron's disembodied voice in her head wasn't evidence enough. "I'm going in, Wade."

_"Copy that. I have to get back to my consulting gig anyhow. Keep in touch."_

Instinct kicked in as she took aim at the next building over. 'For a girl who can do anything,' her inner scrutiny jibed, 'You sure can't help getting into trouble.'

"Like the chicken says," she murmured. As she spoke, she heard Ron's voice chime in again, harmonizing with her, "You knew the job was dangerous when you took it." Then there was only the silent kick of her grapnel, then the whistling of the wind in her ears, as she swung down to do what she did best.

* * *

The instant they snuck inside, Ron knew they had hit pay dirt. The odors of mildew, sawdust, and time permeated the air around the rafters. His senses burned with thousands of details he let his subconscious sift through while Yori shut the squeaky window behind them without a sound. Most of the information fed through his senses was simple white noise unworthy of his notice. But one clue screamed in his nose, jabbing into a sensitive nerve forged years ago during the horrors of his tenure at Camp Wannaweep. 

"Monkey," he snarled. The scent was unmistakable. Where once his phobia would have crippled him with fear, he now felt only a rage that threatened to upset his inner balance. Reaching up, he pressed a hidden patch on his throat beneath his ninja hood. "Got 'im."

Rufus growled, "Yeah," from Ron's robes, rumbling at the offensive odor. His skin rippled with pure hate. "Grr, monkeys…"

There was a hiss of static before, _"Copy that,"_ filtered through in Wade's voice. _"Sorry I've been out of touch. My other consulting job put in a quick call."_

"No big," Ron said.

_"You want me to call the cavalry?"_

Below them, Fiske walked the length of the empty concrete with a deliberate gait. Arms clasped behind his back, jacket front unsashed, he looked comfortable and very much the master of his surroundings. His valet was elsewhere, vanished from sight, and it bothered both ninjas that neither of them had seen her vanish. "What is he doing?" Yori whispered, perplexed. "There does not appear to be anything of interest here."

Ron grunted and touched the Yak Patch on his throat again. "Hold that call, Wade. I doubt the Tokyo Police will arrest one of their most upstanding rich white old dudes on the charge of going into some old building riddled with monkey stank. We'll need something solid."

_"Say the word,"_ Wade assured him, _"I'll make the call, and they'll be there."_

"Thanks Wade. Later." The channel hissed shut, and Ron's team was left to their own devices. He felt his hatred drain away at a sudden, violent wave of cold. The warning beacons that had dazzled his senses a few days ago were buzzing now, their clamor growing steadily in his mind. He felt Rufus quaking, struck by the same fear that sent his buddy aquiver. Nowhere near as potent as that first experience, the warning nonetheless set Ron ill at ease and nearly toppled him from his perch. Only Yori's steadying hand saved him from becoming paste on the floor below.

"Something's here," he told her, clutching at his temple. "I feel…weird. Sick. I dunno."

Another set of eyes glared at Fiske from thee shadows, situated behind a stack of forgotten crates. A satisfied smile infected Fiske's thuggish features and chilled the blood pumping behind those green eyes. His silk-lined leather jacket pooled at his feet with a roll of his shoulders, revealing charcoal robes sashed with a band of red. Team Possible (despite being at half strength at the moment) could bring him in on trespassing charges, but his checkbook would have him back on the sidewalk inside of an hour. They needed real proof of his malicious intent, whatever that was.

"What are you doing here, you miserable limey?" she hissed. "And where did your eye candy go?" That Tsuruko skank had slipped out of sight between entering the building and the time it had taken Kim to catch up. Now she was gone. So far as she knew, Kim had the only hiding spot in the warehouse. Aside from a few lonely boxes here and there, the place was barren. So where could she be?

"Intriguing, isn't it?" Fiske said aloud, clasping his hands behind his back and gazing up at the lofty line of windows filtering in cold sunlight. "They say that to live in ignorance of history is to invite its return. I always wondered how it was possible to exist in such a manner in the Information Age."

"Oh crap," Kim swore under her breath as she watched the rich boy begin to pace. She felt her insides twist at the sound of his reverberating voice. "It's a monologue. Villains never monologue without an audience."

Fiske paused, suddenly fascinated by his own hand. The appendage rotated in front of his face. Beneath the white leather of the glove, his powerful fingers flexed, aching to fulfill unspoken desires. "But then, the true irony is that the very mistake itself is repeated throughout history as well. No matter how many times the lesson is taught, its students still live in ignorance of history, refusing to learn."

"Oh crap," Ron breathed, hunched over atop a steel rafter. Yori tensed next to him as he continued, "It's a monologue." Sensing her confusion, he added, "Villains never monologue without an audience."

"And now," Fiske called into the emptiness, "The lesson has come around again. Once more, history offers the world a chance to fear the power of the Chosen One."

Ron began to shake as the warnings inside his head expanded, becoming impossible to bear. He gripped the I-beam at his feet with whitening knuckles. A gunshot sounded off in his mouth as one of his grinding molars cracked beneath the pressure. Rufus leapt from his robes and began scampering across the rafters, unsure of whether he was going or coming. Skittering on his claws, the mole rat twisted around the rafter at blurring speeds. Yori could only watch helplessly as her two boys went nuts before her eyes.

"Monty is a good lad," the elder Fiske brother sighed, "He really does try. And in a strange way, I'm proud of him. But his execution, it leaves something to be desired. All this brawling with American children and gallivanting around, creating such a ruckus. And that business with the blue fellow and his nuclear missile really was too much, I should think."

Kim squeezed her eyes shut and allowed herself a moment of mourning for her element of surprise. 'Shit. Okay, he _is_ the villain we're after, and he knows I'm here. Okay. Maybe he doesn't know exactly where I am.'

Up in the rafters, Yori fought off a flash of terror. 'Curses,' she thought, 'He _is_ the villain we seek, and he is also aware of our presence. Perhaps he has not discerned our precise location yet.'

The excitement in Fiske's voice snowballed, drawing his arms out in a broad gesture of bold ambition. That wild glint in his eye burst into white flames as he called out, "But now, the next and true Monkey Master shall arise from the shadows. One truly worthy of being Chosen. One with the patience, the skill, and the leadership to bring about the rebirth of the ancient ways. But most importantly," he crowed, "One who possesses strength far exceeding that of any mere monkey." A sly grin slipped over his lips as he glanced back over his shoulder and straight at Kim's hiding spot. "Unless you care to try your hand at stopping me, Miss Possible."

The jig was up. Kim sprouted from behind her crate cover, hands knifed in preparation for trouble. Her features twisted with bitter readiness as she circled around the stack. "Where is the Idol of Simor," she demanded.

"Kim?" The familiar voice cut through Ron's episode. He pushed away the unnerving din inside his head and gaped down as his best friend revealed herself. Panic seeped into his eyes, overriding every other thought and feeling swirling through his mind. She shouldn't be there. He couldn't let anything happen to her.

"The Idol," Fiske shot back, "Is at last in the hands of its proper owner." His fingers snapped, and a full dozen monkey ninjas melted from the shadows. Tsuruko appeared at his side in an instant, arriving from parts unknown without detection via sound or sight. One moment, she wasn't, and the next, she simply was. It unnerved Kim to the point of panic, but she maintained an outward cool to keep up appearances. Tsuruko's arms were draped behind her back as she took up position to Fiske's right, maintaining a respectful distance behind him.

Surrounded on all sides by weapon wielding monkeys, Kim's heart began to sink. "Wade," she muttered, "I'm going to need backup, quick."

"I'm afraid you're on your own, my dear," the sharp-eared Fiske delighted in telling her. "You'll find your communications' uplink quite offline."

Wade's silence confirmed his boast. "So," Kim snarled, "What is all this about? Brotherly rivalry? Or are you just trying to be another Monkey Fist because-"

His snicker cut Kim short. "I assure you, Miss Possible, I intend to become so much more." Never removing his smile from her frustrated, furious features, he pressed a hidden switch on his Rolex. "Behold."

The boxes that had not long ago served as Kim's haven shattered into a thousand splinters with a startling bang. From the shower of broken wood emerged a skeletal, headless figure with gargantuan feet and hands. The dusty air began to settle, and through her irritated tears, Kim caught the glint of blackened steel as, with pounding footsteps, the decapitated body lumbered across the concrete floor.

"No mere mastery of monkey could ever suit me," Fiske continued as the skeletal framework of mechanical parts stalked gracelessly toward its master. Upon reaching him, it paused, opening its ribcage into a set of swinging double doors. "I shall become stronger," he gloated as he climbed in, slipping his legs down into the behemoth's and sliding his arms in as if he were donning a large coat. Only his head protruded from the exo-frame at ludicrous disproportions as the hatches resealed themselves, swallowing the Brit whole.

"And here I was worried," Kim quipped to mask her fear of the now-towering Fiske, "That I finally had to deal with a normal, boring criminal."

"Your courage in the face of overwhelming adversity is admirable," Fiske complimented her from his new, robotic, apelike body. A gleaming crest containing the silhouette of a fist glinted in Kim's eyes. Neither Fiske, nor Tsuruko, nor his simian soldiers, had moved since revealing themselves. "Join me now, swear allegiance to me, and I shall spare you the misery of defeat."

Kim never twitched a muscle. Her defensive stance remained rock steady. "You can't be serious."

"Then your answer is…?"

"You can find my answer," Kim retorted, lifting a leg and waggling its foot in his direction, "On the bottom of my boot. Just tell your proctologist to dig deep."

Fiske tsk'd and shook his head. "Such manners."

"I get ticked when brain cases ruin my holidays," said Kim.

Yori glanced over at Ron. "I am beginning to see what entices you so about her," remarked she.

"We go," Ron said with unwavering focus, "On three. One-"

"Perhaps," Fiske replied, "You would feel better if Mister Stoppable and his lovely companion were to come down and join you."

"Shit. Three." Ron pushed off the edge, with Yori close behind him. They sailed through the air, diving toward the ground and executing flawless flips to land lightly on their toes. Rufus simply dropped off the beam and fell like a stone, splattering into a pink smear on the floor. With a burble, he pulled himself back into shape and cast a tiny snarl at the monkeys surrounding them.

Far from surprised, Kim shot each of them an irritated glare. "Ron," she uttered and nodded. "Yori."

"Kimberly-san," Yori returned the cold greeting in kind.

"Kim," Ron nodded back, and then continued, "Yori. Rufus."

"Ron," the naked mole rat squeaked back.

"And now our little gathering is complete." Fiske smiled, raising an enormous metal hand in greeting to the assembled teens and their tiny entourage of one. "I must admit that, though an exciting prospect, I feel primarily saddened at the thought of your impending demises."

Ron stepped forward, ripping his ninja mask away to bring the full force of his freckled fury upon Fiske. "Game's over, Fiske. We're the good guys, we always win."

The mention of his name sent Fiske into a small frenzy. "I am no longer Gregory Fiske!" His shrieking voice reverberated off the empty walls, "I am the true lord of all things simian. I am Gorilla Fist!" An upraised mechanical hand curled and smashed into the pavement, cracking the cold concrete and quaking the floor beneath them. "And you, my impudent foe," he said as that same fist rose to shake at them, "Will soon learn respect."

Still clad in her hood, Yori spoke, "You are yet another pretender to the title, Lord Fiske. You possess no attributes of the true Chosen One." The words sent a shock through Kim. The redhead shot a startled sidelong glance at her two teammates. Ron's face flashed a brief look of guilt, while Yori's remained steadfast.

"True," replied Fiske. He snapped his new fingers, which resonated with a metallic clang. His masked aide brought one hand around, revealing a small statuette, the very bauble Team Possible was looking for. "You've forced me to act ahead of schedule. But once I capture Stoppable, I can unlock the Idol's secrets at my leisure. And after I find its twin, and activate them both, my destiny shall be realized."

"Actually, Master," Tsuruko spoke with an even tone, "The Idol of Simor is already active." As if to prove her point, the statue's small jade egg flashed green with hidden power.

Fiske whirled upon her in a storm of metal footfalls. "What?" he cried.

Her other hand unveiled a second, identical statue hidden behind her back. "As has the Idol of G'dall."

The voice behind the ninja mask tortured Yori's memory. Could it be?

His aide continued, unaffected by Fiske's stammering shock. "And now that you have lured Stoppable to me, your purpose is served." Her head tilted slightly at the end of her frosty announcement.

Fiske felt a prick in his exposed neck, and began to wobble. His crushing fingers proved to be too clumsy to grasp at the dark protruding from his flesh, still quivering with the force of the monkey's paw that had launched it. The world grew black for the self-titled Gorilla Fist as he tilted to the floor, slamming into the ground with force enough to rattle the teeth of everyone present.

"Goodbye, Master." The treacherous disciple handed her precious statues to a monkey on either side, then pulled away her mask, pulling free her lustrous hair. "And hello, Yori-san. I had hoped Sensei would send you."

"Sister," Yori gasped.

Their animosity forgotten, Ron and Kim exchanged incredulous glances. "Sister?" they harmonized.

With a smug smile, Tsuruko drew a pair of glittering daggers from the sash at her waist. "It gives me the opportunity to tie off another loose end.

A feather could have easily bested Yori and knocked her off her feet. "Tsuruko, is it truly you?"

"No," the woman said with acidic venom in her tone. The daggers spun in her hands, eager to taste the blood of the foolish and the unworthy that stood against her. Long, vicious canines revealed themselves as her lips drew back into a cruel smile. "Now," she proclaimed, "I am Simia."

**To Be Continued**


	9. Betrayal

_All-Purpose Disclaimer_

**Kim Possible is** _review_ **not filled with** _review_ **subliminal messages that are** _review_ **designed to rewrite your** _review_ **perceptions of reality and** _review_ **alter your will to the** _review_ **whim of a higher** _review_ **power**.

**Please read and review.

* * *

**

**Kim Possible  
The Power of Trust**

_by Cyberwraith Nine

* * *

"I'm sorry," Ron said, speaking between his clenched fists, "Could we go back to the part where you and Yori are sisters?" _

"Family?" Rufus squeaked. He looked at the two scowling ninjas, each with a face the color of pale sunlight. "Wha-huh?"

The warehouse had grown silent in the space of a heart's terrified, pounding beat. A circle of warriors swathed in black robes surrounded Team Possible. The circle stood only two feet tall, but the gleaming katana each of them clutched in hair paws precluded finding any humor in their diminutive stature. The Team itself stood divided. Ron and Rufus grouped themselves with Yori. The two teens, wrapped in skintight stealth suits, stood back-to-back with Kim, who wore her usual mission togs with her look of total confusion.

"Listen, Tsuruko," Kim began.

A shiruken sunk into the concrete at Kim's boots, quivering courtesy of the woman in question. As Simia drew back her hand, a look of utter contempt enhanced her scowl. "This does not concern you, American. Go back to chasing costumed clowns and purse snatchers."

Kim's lips drew tight. "Okay, number one? The rude is a no. And number two; give back the statue…s." A quick recount reminded Kim that there was a statue on either side of Simia, each held by one of her precious monkey ninjas. That meant there were twice as many one-of-a-kind statuettes in play, effectively doubling Kim's problems. "I don't know what your angle is, Tsuruko, but-"

Kim's head snapped to the side as she felt something slice into her cheek and whistle past her ear. She touched gingerly at her face, coming back with warm, sticky redness on the fingertips.

"Insolent child," spat the ninja, "You will call me Simia. Soon, you will call me Master." A third shiruken appeared with a flick of her wrists, cradled between two fingers. The pure hate in her face left no doubt in Kim's mind that she had run out of warning shots. "Now remain silent, or I will tear your throat out with my teeth."

As Ron trembled with newfound rage, Yori stepped forward. "Sister," she pleaded, "Why do you do this? You were the greatest of our numbers. Greater than Hirotaka. Greater than me. Greater even than Motoko!" The dangerous monkey mob was not enough to keep Yori from approaching Simia. "Tsuruko, please, give up this mad quest. Sensei said-"

Simia's hand found her katana in far less time than it takes to tell about it. Her movements were a blur. As Yori lifted her foot to take another step, a sword point rested against her throat, keeping her in place. "Sensei is a fool," Simia told her. "All my life, I trained harder, studied longer, than anyone else, all for him. All I ever wanted was to become what he would have respected. But he took all that away from me with a wave of his crystal ball. Well," she said, and Yori winced as the point dug deeper, "Now I shall take back those dreams of mine."

Yori drew up straight. Ice seeped into her features as she looked upon the strange creature she had mistaken for a dear memory. "Each of us has a purpose," she said. "We must face the challenges our own destiny provides."

"Each warrior forges her own destiny," challenged Simia. Her eyes flared with a wild passion. "I have found a new truth since leaving Yamanouchi, and will create whatever destiny I see fit." She waved a hand at Ron, who tried checking Kim's cut without her cooperation. "Would you really trust our fate in the hands of a gaijin?"

"Um, excuse me?" Ron abandoned Kim's cheek, which she wouldn't let him touch anyway, and raised a finger to get Simia's attention. "Hi. Gaijin here. I'm very confused, I'm kinda pissed off, and I really want an explanation."

Simia sneered. "You know nothing of the wonderment taking residence in your greasy body." Then her sneer became a smile, and her eyes flicked to his side. "But perhaps your whore has you too distracted. In which case, allow me."

Kim saw only a flash of silver before the back of a hand filled her vision. The tip of that third shiruken hung a hair's breadth from her wide eye, which caught sight of a red-orange fire burning in Ron's eyes. If she hadn't seen him do the same thing back in London, she might not believe it truly was Ron. His name escaped Kim's lips in a whisper as she gazed in astonishment and fear at someone she thought only a moment ago held no real mystery left for her to discover.

His grip didn't waver as he glared balefully at Simia. "I don't like your attitude," he growled. The shiruken squealed in protest as his fingers flexed into a fist, flickering with that same fire from his eyes. Thin ribbons of blood dribbled down his opening hand, allowing a misshapen lump of metal to clatter to the floor.

The display only pleased Simia more. Her eyes could not tear away from Ron as she said to Yori, "He has begun already to tap into his power. I assume he has you to thank. You always were a marvelous student. IT is only natural that you should become a teacher of equal prowess."

"You speak as if you know me." The anger in Yori's tone could not disguise her grief.

Simia laughed. "Better than you know yourself. I offer you, and you alone, this one chance to join me. Fight by my side," she bid, "And you shall have anything your heart desires."

With growing resolve, the emotion drained from Yori's voice. "I want back the sister that left us for madness," she said.

Simia's countenance lost all amusement. "Fine," she spat, "Then you will die with the gaijin. A pity, really." Her voice grew sultry as she said with half-lidded, lustful eyes, "Are you still as flexible as you once were?"

That snapped Ron straight out of his fire-eyed trance. His head spun to the side. "Wait. What?"

"No matter." Simia stepped back, beckoning her statuette carriers to follow. The rest of the hairy ninjas closed ranks immediately. "Kill the girls, and that…thing," she added, waving at Rufus atop Ron's shoulders. "I want the boy alive. Barely will do just fine."

It was all the signal the eager monkeys needed to hear. An inhuman shriek rose in unison from their covered fangs. They leapt in pairs, swords flashing, beady eyes dark with bloodlust, as they descended upon the teenagers. Their tiny paws existed only to mete out terrible pain, a pleasure denied to them under the bumbling tutelage of Gregory Fiske. Now that he lay in a crumpled heap of his own failed designs, they intended to savor the fruits of their patience.

One bold monkey dove first in a clumsy roll, bringing a deathblow down on Kim Possible's ginger hair that the teen wasn't there to receive. She sidestepped and swung out, putting boot to monkey and sending the early bird back to consider his painful lesson. The next to attack her were more cautious, coming in a trio of blazing blades that drew upon all her skills to keep ahead of. "So," she grunted back at Ron, "You have magic powers."

Ron lost a wedge of his precious blond hair to a combination of a lucky shot and distracted blocking (the latter being his, and the former belonging to a monkey which promptly found his little nose broken). "Can we talk about this later?" he asked. He folded backwards to avoid another slash and came up with a vicious elbow into the monkey's waiting block.

"I want to talk about it now," Kim snapped. Her knee did likewise, into the stomach of a smelly little ninja that made the mistake of jumping right at her.

A twist of his wrist threw one of the monkeys high into the air. "Why do we always fight when we're traveling?" Ron groused.

Having repossessed a katana from a generous owner's broken paw, Yori cut a clean three-foot circle around her with precise strokes. "Do you always jabber so during a fight?" she asked.

"You stay out of this!" both teens snapped at her.

Ron continued, "You're still in the doghouse about that 'flexible' comment Monkey Chick made."

"My sex life prior to our relationship is none of your concern." Yori caught the monkey Ron had tossed and slammed it into the ground. The creature did not rise again, and Yori had already moved on to the next one.

"Sex life." Ron's fist sent a ninja spiraling away. Another landed on his back, trying to get a dagger to his throat, but Rufus was already on the job, pounding his balled-up claws into the foul creature's stomach. "That might have been a great topic to touch on before you asked me to marry you."

A corkscrew flip took Kim over a pair of the hairy beasts. She grabbed each by the head and knocked them together before touching back down. "Marriage?" she piped in.

"Not now!" Ron and Yori barked simultaneously.

"All I'm saying is that a little heads-up would have been nice." Four shiruken snapped through Ron's previous position. He snatched one up and sent it back, sinking it into the monkey who had let it fly. The ninja shrieked and fell, clutching his injury. Taking a quick breath, Ron pushed the sweaty hair out of his face and caught Yori's eye. "Y'know," he added, "Before the honeymoon."

Kim laughed, an explosion of air that was unrelated to her foot sweeping a line of ninjas off of theirs. "Like you're one to talk about keeping secrets," she scoffed. "But then, maybe you're just reaping what you sew."

"Don't you dare talk to Ron-san like that," said Yori. Her tuck and roll beneath a katana swipe, carrying her over to the object of her scorn. She and Kim stood back-to-back once more, boxed in by their miniscule foes' lightning strikes. "A bitter, dry shrew like you-"

"Shrew?" If the deathblows weren't raining down on her, Kim would have turned around to plant her boot up Yori's taught keister. "Just because I'm not into gender-bending incest, you have the brass to call me a shrew?"

"No," Yori shot back, "More like a cold fish."

Deathblows or not, the idea became awfully tempting. "What, like I'm going to just strip down right now and prove you wrong? We could even get your sister in on it, make it a three-way. Bet you'd love that."

"Not even in your most twisted fantasies," Yori pledged.

It was becoming increasingly difficult for Ron to focus. His overactive imagination took in the girls' adversarial conversation and twisted it in a different light. "Could I just say something here?" he called out.

"No!" Yori and Kim shouted.

"That's probably how you hypnotized Ron," snarled Kim. "Must have given it to him three, maybe four times a day. After a summer like that, I can't blame him." She clapped her hands over a katana, catching the blade between her palms. With a sharp twist, the weapon wrenched free and flipped around. She caught the hilt and swung with precise strokes, shredding the robes of the monkey unlucky enough to lose his blade. "He's addicted," Kim added. "You know, like a drug."

Yori pulled her fist from a bloodied face and risked a disgusted look over her shoulder at the redhead. "How typical," she said. "Leave it to the American to be sexually repressed to the brink of neuroses and beyond. Is it because I revel in my womanhood while you wallow in yours, or because I openly desire in that you have forcibly denied yourself for fifteen years?"

"That," Kim said between kicks, "Is my best friend you're talking about."

"Do I get a say in this at all?" Ron caught a punch and crushed the monkey's paw with one hand. The monkey's shriek of pain cut off abruptly as Ron's foot finished the job with a snap kick to the jaw. "I am right here, y'know."

"Shut up, Ron," Kim grunted, "I'm defending you."

"Oh gee," he laughed, "Thanks. Don't let me get in the way."

"ENOUGH!" Simia's voice thundered. Those monkeys still conscious and mobile enough to fight pulled back and dragged their less fortunate cousins from the battlefield, leaving trails of red and abandoned weapons in their wake. Kim and Yori shucked their borrowed blades and squared off with Ron as Simia once again took center stage. Silent throughout the fight, her look of amusement had transformed into one of pure disgust at the pitiful display her seasoned warriors put forth in their inaugural fight. It was an embarrassment. "You dare oppose me? You are but insignificant stains upon my heel!"

Kim directed her groan inward. 'Holy Christ,' she thought, 'Why do they always want to talk?' Therapy had to be cheaper than supervillainy. But Simia's motives revealed themselves to Kim's trained eye; for every long-winded sentence she projected out into the echoing space, she and her idol carriers took a sly step closer. Kim considered calling her on it, but chose instead to remain silent. Better to wait, and see what the inexperienced villainess was cooking up. The only problem was, that meant protecting Mister Monkey Magic and his girlfriend, too.

"-and all shall kneel before the true Monkey Master," proclaimed Simia as Kim drifted back into the conversation. It was Simia who knelt, though, taking her idols back in hand. As she rose, the jade eggs clutched in the statues' paws came to life, shining with an emerald glow that cast Simia's face in ominous light. "Soon, Chosen One, your power and your destiny will be restored to their rightful owners."

Waves of danger pulsed through Ron's new sixth sense as she held the statues aloft. Every instinct he had told him to run, to scurry away and find the nearest tree to disappear up into. But he convinced himself that such a notion was the old, cowardly Ron talking. Well, Ron the Sidekick wouldn't be calling the shots anymore. "You, lady," he said in a cracking voice, "Are a few monkeys short of a barrel."

"Will you surrender willingly?"

"Bite me."

Simia's face split into a sinister grin. "I intend to do much worse to you." Her eyes rolled back into her sockets, and she began to sway. Strange words unlike any uttered in a thousand years bubbled from her lips. Unlike the lagging echoes of their previous shouting and sniping, her chanting assaulted them from all directions at once. Ron could feel it pouring into his mind like boiling oil, spreading agony across each synapse. Rufus shrieked and fell from his shoulder, but the mole rat's cries were well beyond what Ron could focus on. Pain had become the alpha and omega of her world. A cold fire of reds and golds leapt from his pores. His skin smoldered, and a howl unlike anything his throat had ever produced rattled the walls, but he did not burn.

Yori cried above Ron's screaming, "Tsuruko, stop! You will kill him!"

Simia only grinned harder and glared behind closed eyes. Her chanting grew louder, her statues brighter, and Ron's agony ballooned exponentially. Wisps of the cold flames flickered in her direction, drawn by the power of her idols. Her remaining ninjas blocked the two heroines from stopping her in time. Simia's rightful destiny would be hers at last.

Did her hand suddenly feel lighter?

The world awaiting her when she opened her eyes was a grim one indeed. Yori, that traitorous, backstabbing bitch, had a great big smile on her face as she cradled the Pretender. The throbbing reddish aura Simia had hoped to rip from his body had retreated back inside his worthless meat. And Kim Possible, the girl who could never pose any threat to her plans, held a red gun and wore a very self-satisfied look on her ugly cow face. Simia traced a black nylon line from the end of Possible's gun, along the floor and past her own feet, to the shattered remains of her right hand's idol surrounding an extended grapnel.

For a long moment, Simia could only stare at her shattered idol. Years of searching, planning, research, and toadying up to that disgusting fool Fiske all lay before her in a useless heap of crumbled, rotting stone and fractured jade. All of the benevolence and good will she dreamed of spreading as the new Chosen, gone, all because of a mistake of destiny and his whore. At first, she felt empty. Then, sad, not so much for herself, but for the world that might never know the gift of a proper Monkey Master. But the mourning process passed quickly, and her void filled with unbridled rage that found its target with equal haste.

One of her monkeys had quick enough reflexes to catch the intact idol as she flew forward. Form and finesse forgotten, her legs pumped her forward, launching her at the smug bitch. "I'll kill you! You miserable whore, I'll tear your heart out and-"

Simia was fast. She was on Kim before the teen had the chance to drop her grapnel gun and mount a defense. Yori, a warrior Simia knew to be the envy of lightning, could not stop Simia's hand from knifing at Possible's throat. So when her fingertips froze mere centimeters from Kim's neck, and her wrist creaked beneath a viselike grip, it took Simia a precious half-second to realize that Stoppable's hand held her at bay. He was off the floor, standing to the side of Simia's would-be fight, and staying Kim's execution with a crushing force that didn't seem taxing to him in the least.

"That," he growled in a tone that would chill a penguin, "Sucked." A twist of his shoulders tossed Simia away. She flew back fifteen paces and tumbled another ten, saved only by her training. She landed on all fours, poised, coiled to spring again. Ron didn't care. He strutted forward, keeping himself always between the girls and the psycho monkey lover that put the voodoo whammy on him a minute ago.

"You are more resilient than I gave you credit for," said Simia. She stood, hands still bared like claws. "I won't underestimate you again."

Ron shook his head. "Lady, I've known you for less than ten minutes, and I already can't stand you. There's not going to be an 'again'. There's going to be me, beating the piss out of you and your hairy little hired hands. You're going to jail, and I…" He groaned and rotated his neck, releasing a load of tension with a revolting series of pops. "I'm gonna get a full-body massage from the hottest girl I can find, just to start getting rid of the headache you've given me."

"And nacos!" Rufus added.

Ron pointed to his little buddy. "That's right."

Simia reassessed her opponent. Stoppable had great power, there was no denying that. But the interrupted ritual had worn him down a great deal. Add that to his overconfidence, and that he had no real understanding of his own power, and that gave Simia a fighting chance. Perhaps it was not perfect, but Plan B would have to do for the moment. "Do all Westerners talk this much," Simia taunted, "Or simply the cowards?"

"I am so sick of you," sighed Ron as Simia charged. Telltale silver flashed from her sleeves and into her hands, and then in his face. Left and right, up and down, Ron swung his head to avoid Simia's slashes. Golden hair trailed behind him as he flipped back in a handspring. The knife passed so close to his nose that he actually saw his wide eyes reflected in her blade. No human could move that fast, at least not without some kind of magic.

Simia flipped after him. Short blades snapped from the ends of her feet, tearing at his cloak as her legs swept around. When she came back up, her anger held a sheen of arrogance. "You have made extensive study of Tai Shing Pek Kwar, Pretender. But I have mastered it, as well as several other styles."

Knuckles glowing with red power struck a blow against Simia's vanity, as well as her cheek. She stumbled back and fell onto her butt, clutching her face in shock. Ron stood over her and flexed his luminous hands. "See the glowing? The glowing means you need to Shut. The. Hell. Up."

Kim watched the boy she grew up with draw back a radiant fist, preparing for a blow that would surely shatter Simia's skull. Everything was happening too fast. She looked over at Yori, hoping to find some help, or at least for some answers. The bloodlust waiting for her in Yori's face twisted Kim's stomach. But it was nothing compared with the hate in Ron's glare. "Ron," she screamed, "No!"

Her scream broke Ron's resolve. He glanced over at Kim and, for one instant, he saw what he had become through her eyes. A scarlet monster stared back at him with a horrified expression from mirrors of trembling green. Kim took a step forward, reaching out for him, and though the distance between was considerable, he still recoiled. "KP, no-AUGH!"

Ron fell to one knee and clutched his wounded arm. He watched Simia roll away, coming up with a glaring grin and a dripping blade. "Focus, Pretender," she chided him. "It can mean the difference between victory and defeat. Take now, for example."

Kim lowered her outstretched hand as Ron's brow furrowed again and swung back toward Simia. "Lucky shot," Ron grimaced.

A gesture brought to Simia the monkey with her idol. "Luckier than you know," Simia assured him. She brought the blade to the stone monkey's jade egg and ran the flat side along its gem. A thin rivulet of red loosened itself from Simia's dagger and trickled down the curve of the ancient totem. Simia leered at Ron, licking the rest of the blood from her dagger.

All the confidence in Yori's face drained away. "Ron-kun, you must destroy the idol! Destroy it now!" she cried in a panic.

"Yori, c'mon," Ron laughed, squinting at his life's blood running down the jade egg. "How much trouble is a thousand-year-old piece of butt ugly rock going to…"

Ron's words trailed off as the blood disappeared beneath the jade's surface, drawn within by some unseen compulsion. The impossibility of a gem the size of his fist exhibiting sponge-like qualities didn't even register with him. He became more focused on the mind-bending pain shattering every single cell in his body. Whatever Simia had tried before with both idols couldn't even compare with what he felt now. Worse than fire, worse than electrocution, worse than blades, or bullets, or broken bones, or flying headfirst through the windshield of the car he had run into a cement barrier at forty miles an hour (all of which were things he had experienced firsthand), this pain lasted an eternity between two ticks of a second hand.

Blinding red light exploded from Ron's skin. His howl rattled the entire building and shattered its windows. Woman and monkey alike were blown back as the magic within him filled the large space. Kim could not see or hear anything except Ron's anguish as she felt herself sail through the air on eddies of wind and wizardry. By the time she could think to retract her grapnel for another shot, her only immediate option of anchoring herself, the crimson light faded, and she met with unforgiving concrete.

She stood up, ignoring the protestant aching in her shoulder, and shook the ginger curtain out of her eyes and back over her ears. Yori was easy enough to spot across the warehouse. The ninja girl seemed to be in as good of shape as Kim felt. Even the monkeys and their master picked themselves off the floor. Only Ron, the center of the storm, remained where he was. He stood motionless, facing Simia as the new villainess stood and cradled her precious idol.

"Ron?" Kim's pain became secondary. She approached Ron from behind, repeating his name until she reached him. Her rough hand spun her around. "Ron, why can't you answer m-"

Ron's soft brown eyes were no more. Irises of pure red hate had replaced the windows to his laughter and gentility, and they now glared at Kim with no trace of recognition. Kim's hand dropped. She gasped and stepped away, afraid without knowing why. How could she fear the one person she trusted more than anyone else? Yet when he looked at her, all she wanted to do was run.

The Idol of Simor rested comfortably in Simia's grasp. Its jewel egg had changed its color, becoming that of the mystic ire in Ron's gaze. Simia laughed a bitter laugh at Kim's distress. "You see, Sister?" she asked Yori, "Even in defeat, I claim a victory. You have only succeeded in delaying the inevitable."

"What have you done to my Ron-kun?" Yori sobbed. She ran to him, ignoring Kim's venomous glare and grasped Ron's face, cradling it with a lover's tenderness.

"He is mine now." Her monkeys gathered around her, some limping, others laughing in long, hooting shrieks. "Come to me, Stoppable. Obey your Master."

Ron pushed Yori aside and began walking toward Simia and her soldiers. Rufus chattered in his ear, screeching and tugging at his face. Ron simply slapped the rodent aside and continued on. "Ron," Kim cried, lunging after him. She grasped him by the shoulder and pulled back. All her strength did little to dissuade him. She wrapped her arms around his chest and buried her face in his neck. "Ron, please stop."

When Ron stopped, Kim dared to hope that she was reaching him. Then the red glow returned, shoving her off of his powerful (and surprisingly broad) shoulders and twenty feet back onto her cargos. She skidded another fifteen feet and knocked into Yori's legs. The two girls fell into a tangle, scrabbling against one another to the tune of Simia's amusement.

Her laughter trailing off, Simia pulled Ron the rest of the way to her side. "I think I'll take my leave of you, ladies. You may call upon me once I become the Supreme One. I may have need of court jesters."

Simia threw a trio of pellets at their feet as Kim shoved Yori away. "Ron, come back! No!" Kim's strongest sprint took her to the edge of Simia's billowing smoke cloud. Wisps of charcoal smoke streamed through Kim's fingers, but she could not reach them in time. Her knees met with cracked concrete as she watched their silhouettes fade away. The last lingering sight Kim saw in the disappearing cloud was Ron's glowing red stare before it, too, vanished into the ether.

A pink blob on the floor pulled himself back into an oblong shape that scurried over to where his best friend had houdini'd his way from the warehouse. "Ron?" Rufus squeaked. The ground beneath him trembled as Kim's gloved fist slammed into the floor. Her anguished cry startled Rufus into the air and onto her shoulder. It wasn't Ron's shoulder, but under the circumstances, he had no room to complain. "Ho, where's Ron?"

Red hair masked Kim's face as she sobbed his name, pounding the concrete again. Even as Rufus nuzzled her cheek, she felt a part of her sinking into bleak despair. "Come back," she murmured.

"Ron-kun is gone," Yori said, approaching the wreck of a hero from behind. Her heart pounded in her throat, but the testy stream of chiding coming from her mouth never faltered. "No amount of bellyaching will bring him back. I will find him myself. You and Rufus-san should return to-"

Kim's size seven boot buried itself in Yori's stomach as the redhead horse-kicked her partner's partner as hard as she could. The blow lifted Yori from her feet and launched her back onto the floor, sprawled and dazed. She could offer no resistance as the treads of the very boot that had laid her out dug into her collarbone. The pressure against her delicate bone drew a wince out between her teeth. But she forgot all about that when the tip of a grapnel dug into her forehead. Her fearful eyes followed its silvery shaft back to a red gun grasped in Kim's whitened knuckles.

"I've been in the hero business for a long time, Yori," Kim said in a tone of pure ice. "There have been some close calls. At times, I've even been tempted. But I've never killed anyone. Ever." And at this, she leaned in, pressing her grapnel even harder, threatening to break Yori's skin. "But so help me, I will start right here, right now, with you, if you don't tell me exactly what I need to know to save Ron."

**To Be Continued**


	10. Girl Talk

_All-Purpose Disclaimer_

Kim Possible is a registered trademark of Disney, Inc., part of the governmental plan to eradicate independent thought and free will through the use of obscure and hairless mammalian species and fiery redheads. If you play 'Emotion Sickness' backward, Kim's angry shouting is actually a message. It says, "Drink more Ovaltine."

Yeah, I hate that movie too. But Kim Possible is still groovy, subliminal programming and all.

* * *

**Kim Possible  
The Power of Trust **

_**by Cyberwraith Nine

* * *

**_

"You do not possess the nerve," Yori stated in a dead calm.

Kim Possible stood over the prone body of one Yori Akamatsu in the echoing expanse of an abandoned Tokyo warehouse. The tip of her grapnel gun wavered mere inches from the young ninja's throat. Both girls wore expressions of deadly seriousness, though their garb ranged from ninja chic to passé Kim-wear long since abandoned by fashion critics as the raving lunacy of a trend-backward teenage hero.

"Try me," growled Kim. Her grapnel tackled beneath Yori's chin, drawing the girl's face up. There was no trace of idle threat about her. The trigger creaked under her index finger as evidence of that. "Who is Simia? Why did she kidnap Ron?"

"I do not know."

The gun didn't move as Kim reached down and slapped Yori hard across the face. "Wrong answer," Kim spat. "Who is Simia? Why did she kidnap Ron?"

Clouds of rage gathered in Yori's eyes. "I do not know," she repeated.

This time, a backhand snapped Yori's head to one side. Blood welled up in the corner of her mouth. "Next time, it's my boot," warned Kim. "Now, who is Simia? Why did she kidnap Ron?" The grapnel's point dimpled Yori's perfect skin above her clavicle.

Rufus squealed at Kim's feet, watching the tense exchange, his whiskers flickering. "No," he wailed, torn between which of Ron's loves to aid. "No fight, no fight!"

The taste of her own blood infuriated Yori. "You seek your lost toy, Kimberly?" She sneered with disgust, unfazed by the improvised weapon poised to evacuate her skull. "You are pathetic. You care nothing for Ron-kun."

"He's my best friend!" Kim shouted.

"You know nothing of him!" Yori shouted back. "You mourn the loss of your sidekick? Such insincere platitudes are too late, and nothing compared to my loss." Tears threatened the edges of her almond eyes, watering down her contempt blazing at Kim's face. "I have lost a Champion, a friend, and a fiancé, all in the space of a moment." She took a deep breath, and sent a wad of bloody spittle onto Kim's cheek. "Kill me," she challenged. "I will never betray my honor. You can burn in hell." Yori closed her eyes and adopted a look of final peace, wondering in the back of her terrified, sorrowful mind if her ancestors would greet her with proud cheers or disappointed scolding upon her arrival.

Kim let the dishonoring blow trickle down her cheek unopposed. Another micron of pressure would send her climbing spike into Yori's jaw and out the top of Yori's head. Since the moment they met, this Japanese upstart had been nothing but trouble, a walking headache in sexy, skintight spandex. Kim's worst nightmare made real; the girl who would come along and steal the best part of her away. This two-faced bitch had turned her own best friend against her, and now refused to answer basic questions that could be the difference between Ron living and dying. One more micron of pressure. There were no witnesses, save for the two, saucer-sized eyes of a sad, naked mole rat.

The pressure vanished from beneath Yori's chin. She opened her eyes, half expecting to see her grandfather waiting with open arms to welcome her into the next chapter of her existence. Instead, it was Kim's hand waiting, ready to help Yori from the floor. The redhead's eyes were mere slits of emerald fury, but her grapnel gun waited by her side, pointed harmlessly at the floor. "You aren't worth it," she growled.

Yori took the hand with a smug smile of triumph. "She can do anything," she mocked the heroine. Kim turned away, but Yori kept pushing her luck. "Ron-san was wrong about you. You-"

Kim's heel hooked across Yori's jaw in a vicious reverse kick. Yori rolled reflexively with the blow, which hurt nonetheless. Spinning, she returned with the exact same kick. Kim's reflexes were not as quick to react, and her head reeled sideways in an explosion of pain. Kim tasted copper as her vision tried setting the interior of the warehouse back in order.

Adrenaline charged every fiber of Yori's being, quickening her breath. Her bosom heaved with excitement and surprise. "Perhaps there is some fight in you after all."

Kim felt something hard rolling around in her mouth. She brought the object to her lips and spit. Her tooth, pink with blood, bounced against the concrete, forgotten. "I won't kill you," Kim told her. "I'm better than that. So I'll just wail on you until you start telling me what I need to know."

"You? Fight me?" Yori laughed. "And here I believed Ron-kun to be the funny one."

"I hear the talk," taunted Kim, "Now walk the walk."

Both girls yowled and flew at each other. Years of training and countless hours of conditioning were tossed aside like so much refuse as they smashed together in midair and fell to the floor. A living tangle of lithe limbs tore at itself, scratching, pulling hair, punching, biting, and screaming. Kim yelped when Yori's clenched fist came away with a fluttering ribbon of red, but drew the same noise from Yori when her foot plowed into the ninja's ample chest.

The pulled away and stood, glaring and circling one another. Yori rubbed at her right breast and snarled, "You are a selfish, contemptible wretch. You do not deserve him."

"Stole the words right out of my mouth," retorted Kim. Blood leftover from Simia's shiruken still smeared her cheek. Still more of the stuff trickled from her lips. The back of her hand cleaned away some of it in a callous sweep from her chin as she considered the formidable opponent in front of her. Still not totally convinced that Yori wasn't part of the whole 'Monkey Magic' scheme, Kim could no longer remember any of it. Hatred had wiped clean her mind, leaving only violent rage, and one very unlucky recipient to take it out on. "Let's end this," she barked.

"That suits me perfectly," Yori returned.

Nose to nose, it seemed they were doomed to go back to blows, until Rufus leapt between them. A foreclaw and a hind claw planted themselves each on both girls' faces before Rufus stretched his body outward, forcing them apart. "No fight," he squeaked, "No fight! Gotta run!"

Only then did Kim notice the flashing colors filtering through the broken windows of the warehouse. She looked to Yori, who held a similar fearful recognition in her features. The still, metallic body lying facedown on the dusty floor, next to the shattered remains of a priceless relic, on top of the true villain's absence, painted a picture even Kim's world-renowned reputation couldn't combat. "Time to go," she said.

"Agreed." Yori started for the door, then stopped as she heard muted mutters and quiet footsteps through the aluminum siding. Though adequately stealthy to slip past most everyone's notice, the Tokyo policemen didn't have what it took to fool Yori. "The door," she hissed. "Where can we-?"

Kim had already recollected her grapnel gun. Her mind ran through complex calculations, taking into account the warehouse's dimensions, both inside and out. It would be tricky, but doable. "How much do you weigh?" she asked Yori.

"I don't see what-"

"**How much?**"

An impatient breath quelled Yori's irritation. "About forty-six kilos," she replied.

"Fine." Kim took several steps back and shifted to the right, judging the angle and speed they would need. An empty window high above and far behind Yori's head loomed in Kim's eyes, though she did hear the rattling of a doorknob that hastened their need to escape. "Get ready to grab my legs, and don't let go, whatever happens," Kim told her. She waited until Yori nodded, then reached down toward her tiny friend. "Rufus, climb on."

Once Rufus had tucked himself in her cargo pocket, Kim allowed herself no hesitation. The grapnel gun kicked in her grip, sending its climbing spike hurtling toward the ceiling. It sunk through the thin metal, extending its claws after and securing itself as the line grew taut once more. Kim reset the gun's trigger to begin winching the line at full power on her command, said a brief prayer, and then sprinted at Yori with every ounce of speed she possessed.

Kim's clever plan at last became clear to Yori. She did not panic when she saw her reviled rival charging at her, but instead braced herself for the impact. A mere meter before she bowled Yori over, Kim squeezed the trigger again, then held on for dear life as her gun yanked her skyward. The ninja felt a massive impact in her shoulders as Kim's legs swung into her. Yori wrapped her arms around the olive green limbs and flew backward, completely blind to their path.

The gun's tiny motor whined in protest of the taxing task of zip-lining the two girls up at an angle. She squeezed the trigger again, signaling for the gun to cease winching the line in. Though the line grew slack, the momentum they had accumulated continued them up and toward Kim's target, the dagger-edged broken window. For a moment, Kim feared their velocity would be too slow, and that they would slam into the wall, only to be discovered by the police moments later as two massive lumps of fleshy broken bones. But Wade's engineering, as it always did, pulled through in a pinch. With inches to spare, Kim and Yori sailed through the glass teeth of the window and out into free air.

Kim mashed her tensed finger down onto the trigger a third time, instructing the gun to begin releasing the line. As they sailed up and out, the nylon rope caught on the window's top edge, drawing their path in a loop back the way they had come. Horizontal and flipping upside down, Kim realized too late she had miscalculated; the line wouldn't release fast enough to carry them over to the roof. Already, the rusted aluminum siding dominated her view, soon to be the last thin she saw before blacking out as she fell to her death.

The impact rattled her teeth, but wasn't as painful as she had imagined it would be, courtesy of gravity's deceleration. Still upside down, she looked down and wondered with a sliver of morbid curiosity stuck in her overwhelming terror what it would look and feel like to crash face first into the pavement below. That morbid curiosity became predominant when she didn't feel the stomach-churning sensation of freefall. She twisted around, trying to see what had saved them.

"Do not move." Yori's voice sounded strained. Her arms still held Kim's legs in a viselike grip. Her own legs were hooked over the edge of the building, held there through a combination of powerful muscles, indomitable willpower, and stupid luck. Every time Kim jiggled, Yori's legs slipped another centimeter. "I will swing you up to the ledge. Do you understand?" Kim cut her grapple line and shouted an affirmative.

The muscles in Yori's legs screamed as she began rocking at the hips, sending Kim back and forth like a pendulum. Kim swung higher each time, straining her arms at each apex to grab hold of the building's ledge. Yori felt her legs slipping with each turn. To continue would mean her death, and probably Kim's. She didn't even like Kim, and certainly didn't like the idea of dying for her. Yet the thought of dropping her never crossed Yori's mind.

Kim strained, stretched, and snagged the lip of the roof, pulling and twisting to hook her heel as well. Just as she got a solid grip, Yori's sleek, skintight attire betrayed her, sliding her precious hold straight off the edge. 'I have done all I can, ancestors,' She spoke silently. 'Watch over him for me in my absence, and-' But that was all the time she had for prayer before Kim's hand clamped onto her ankle and jerked her back up.

Still hanging halfway off the ledge, Kim grunted against the weight. Her cut cheek pressed into the icy metal, burning, but she wasn't going to let Yori drop. "Same plan," Kim called, "Other way around. Ready?" Yori echoed back, and so Kim began swinging her to and fro. Within moments, Yori reached the roof as well, hooking an arm and a leg just like Kim. Once secure, both girls rolled the rest of the way onto the roof.

For a moment, they just lay there, taking breaths of cold air in great, gulping heaves. Kim felt Rufus root his way out of her pocket and flop out, squeaking a relieved sigh. Then, charged with adrenaline, they began to laugh in gasps, coming off of the high that only a life-and-death situation could bring. They looked to each other with wide smiles, laughing together for the first time.

Kim pulled her Kimmunicator out and thumbed the contact switch. Its screen hissed with static before Wade's image and voice broke through. _"-im, can you hear me? The police are on their way, and-"_

"New plan, Wade," sighed Kim. "Call us a quick extraction. We still have a favor coming from the CIA?" Before he could answer, she continued, "We need a ride. I want to be out of here in twenty minutes."

Wade jolted back, spitting up a mouthful of Purple Flurp that washed over his digital camera and bathed his image in violet. _"I can't just order the CIA around!"_

She scoffed. "Then remind them who recovered their code module before Dementor had a chance to auction it off." The line clicked shut before he could argue any more. Kim rolled to her feet and looked back. Yori was already up and about, and looking over the edge. "Did they spot us?"

"I do not believe so," replied Yori. She guided Kim's gaze with an upturned finger. A patrol car sat between the warehouses, its lights flashing away and its innards emptied of police. Doubtless they were inside, discovering Fiske's broken body, Simia's broken idol, and a grapnel line hanging from the middle of the ceiling for no apparent reason. "We are safe," Yori sighed.

Stars exploded behind Yori's eyes as something pounded into her jaw. She spun back to the rippled aluminum roof, bouncing once more and then falling still. The world blackened before she could feel the rough steel toe of a boot flipping her onto her back.

Kim rubbed at her knuckles. Blood and mucus still swam in her mouth. Though tempting, she spit the offending taste well away from Yori. "Good," she sneered.

* * *

Somehow, from some unknown corner of existence, the world began to filter back in through the swirling black void, accompanied by a throbbing that threatened to split Yori's skull in twain. Her eyes fluttered open, spying a twitching field of pink that chattered excitedly in her face. Prickling whiskers tickled her nose, and a set of paws danced on her head. "Uhh…" moaned Yori. The attempt at speech only made the pink more excited. "Rufus-san?" 

"Get off of her, Rufus," an irritated voice snapped. Rufus' face vanished, replaced by the tacky, dim interior of Apartment Twenty-Six. The dull, beige walls hurt her sensitive eyes, which longed to return to blissful black. An aching pain in her entire body agreed.

Something walked up in front of her and grasped her head roughly, pulling at her eyelid and forcing it open. The searing light silhouetted the something's slender frame. "Your pupils look fine. You'll live." The something tossed her head aside and walked away.

Yori wanted to go after the something as it circled some kind of counter (the kitchen? Nothing seemed to be coming clearly to her), but her arms and legs refused to move. As her senses grew sharper, she became aware of the tight feeling in her chest, the hard lines of a chair pressed into her back, and the thick cuffs of metal clenched at her wrists. She shifted to either side, feeling her chair tilt with her. "What…?"

The something knelt down, disappearing behind the row of cabinets so that only its ginger mane remained in view. "Try not to move around too much," warned the something. "I doped you up with some muscle relaxants. Got them after a skiing accident in the Alps. Ron and I were saving…" It paused, rising p to glare at Yori with glimmering green eyes. "Never mind. The point is, I figure they'll help you stay put. Assuming that the cuffs on your hands and feet, and the ten yards of climbing rope I trussed you up in, aren't enough to discourage you."

"But why?" Yori asked with a tongue too big for her mouth.

A snort erupted from its vile, cute little nose. "You don't want to talk," it snapped, "Fine. But I'm not about to let you go ninjaing around. Until you start coughing up some honesty with me, you're staying put."

The something began to come into focus. "Kim," moaned Yori. "How did we get back to Upperton?"

"I don't like flying government jets over Dreidleton," Kim muttered, hunting through the shelves in their kitchen. "It spooks the neighbors. Didn't have much choice this time. Where is it?" she hissed to herself. Dishes flew out and cracked against the floor in her hastened search, unnoticed in Kim's furious search. Then she snapped her fingers. "Bedroom."

The ropes held tight against Yori's struggle to follow Kim around the room and through her bedroom door. "Kimberly," she slurred, "You must release me. Only together do we stand a chance-"

Kim was well beyond Yori's pitiful plea. Now her closet suffered her impatience, belching up outfit after outfit into heaps upon the floor as she plumbed its depths. At last, with an outburst of success, she withdrew a long, metallic bandoleer, attached to which were four gleaming spheres. The silvery surface of each sphere broke only for an activation switch seated on a band of color 'round their midsections. Kim recalled the day Wade had presented her with this weapons project of his, and her own disgusted protests, saying how she would never use them. "Funny how soon 'never' sneaks up on you," she noted humorlessly.

The cool grenades bobbed on their breakaway attachment rings as she touched each one, recalling their functions out of a long-forgotten conversation. 'Blue is for knockout gas,' she thought, mouthing the words as they passed through her mind. 'Yellow is an adhesive compound. Green is a concussion blast. Red…' She paused, running her finger along the crimson band of the last grenade. The incendiary. It would barbecue anything within sprinting distance, or so Wade had told her. She loathed weapons, preferring to put her faith in her own hands and her own skills. Only now, without backup, those trustworthy tools might not be enough.

She tossed the bandoleer onto her bed. Next came her filthy mission togs, which she peeled away from her sticky, sweaty, bloodied skin. Her fingers brushed against the bruises covering her naked body, turned black and blue since that morning, and she was struck at once with her own exhaustion. The allure of her bed became too much, and she fell onto its downy comforter, staring up at the ceiling and promising herself to rest only a moment.

A two-toned childhood friend caught her attention at the edge of her vision, tangled in the red hair splayed above her atop the bed. Reaching up, she snagged the distraction and held it above her face, examining it a moment. The beaded eyes of her Pandaroo stared back at her with a mischievous glint, grinning its threaded smile and offering its arms out for a stubby embrace, just as it always did. Kim accepted, and hugged the plush to her chest, burying her nose between its floppy ears. Something cold pressed into her skin, sending her hurtling back into her own past.

_"Happy birthday, KP," a nervous five-year-old Ron Stoppable said to his feet, which could not seem to stop their nervous shuffling. The eyes of every Possible in the room shone at him, much to his dismay._

_Kim beamed. It was her first birthday party, and the first time she had ever brought a friend over. Her parents had offered to let any number of her friends come to help her celebrate her fifth birthday. Still shy around others, Kim had only one friend close enough to even consider inviting over for such an important day. Well, two, if you counted Ron's imaginary friend, Rufus, which Kim didn't. Eager to the point of bursting, Kim took the festively-adorned box from his hands. "Thanks, Ronnie," she said._

_"Oh," cooed Mrs. Possible, "Isn't that just darling?" The room exploded with light as Kim's father snapped an album's worth of pictures. Still cradling her infant twins in her arms, she said, "Go on and open it, Kimmie."_

_The wrapping paper could not defend the box's contents from Kim's glee, and yielded in strips and scraps. Faced with a plain cardboard box, Kim delved further, popping its lid with clumsy fingers. The contents inside elicited a delighted shriek, and flew into her hands, a black and white blur of pure ecstasy. "It's a Cuddle Buddy!"_

_"A Pandaroo," Ron provided needlessly to the expert on the subject. "I 'member you saying how much you wanted one."_

_Cool metal pressed into her cheek as she squeezed the mish-mashed animal. She pulled it away to discover a small, flattened silvery heart dangling from Pandaroo's waist via a thin red ribbon that disappeared into its pouch. "Pretty," she whispered as the nickel's worth of metal spun before her astonished eyes. She tucked the heart back into Pandaroo's pouch for safekeeping, then rediscovered her exuberance and threw her arms around Ron's shoulders. "Oh, thank you, Ron, thank you!"_

_"Ack!" squirmed the little boy. "Cooties!"_

Kim poked at the swinging heart now, pulling herself away from happier times and back into the present. "I won't let you down, Ron," she confided to the doll. "Not now. Not ever."

Still exhausted, Kim couldn't bear to lie still for another minute. She got up and dressed quickly into a fresh set of mission clothes, hesitating only a moment before ducking underneath the metal bandoleer and settling its weight onto her shoulder. The Pandaroo returned to its roost among the crisp lines of her bed. Best to leave the past behind; where she would go, there could be no attention afforded to memory, happy or otherwise. When her bedroom door opened again, it was Kim Possible, world adventurer and doer of anything who stepped out, leaving her moping teenage look-alike in her wake.

The Kimmunicator hummed to life, bringing with it Wade's haggard image_. "What up, Kim?"_ he managed.

Kim stalked across the room, ignoring Yori's drunken protest and Rufus' chattering. "Wade, set me up with the fastest ride you've got. Call in every favor if you have to, I don't care what it takes."

"Where to?"

"You tell me," she answered, reaching their coat closet. She pulled a knapsack out and began loading it up with fresh equipment, including a new grapnel gun. "Put a trace on Ron's tracking chip."

Wade sighed_. "Kim, you know I removed that thing years ago. Ron's a human being, not a migrating yak. Ethics demanded that I take it out-"_

"Wade!"

The bitter snarl led him to finish seamlessly_, "-and replace it with an even better one."_ Even through his sheepishness, Wade's technical pride shone through. _"Accurate to within-"_

"Fine." She terminated the signal in the middle of his self adulation and shouldered her backpack. "Rufus." The naked mole rat snapped to attention at her feet. Kim knelt down, bringing her face as close to his as she could. "I know I can count on you, Rufus."

Rufus nodded and saluted. "Uh huh, uh huh!"

Her eyes shot sideways at the metal folding chair laden with her rival. "But I also know you and Yori have a history together."

At this, Rufus melted into a puddle. His face floated at the top, blinking large, sad eyes. "Uhhhnnnnn…"

Kim reached out and collected the putty rodent, helping him reassume his natural shape. "So I won't ask you to pick sides. Rufus, I want you to sit this one out."

"Uhn? No!" squawked Rufus.

She set him gently on the counter and gave his head a pat. "Wait for me here," she asked of him, "And I'll be back with our Ron in no time."

"Your Ron?" Yori scoffed thickly from across the room. A contemptuous laugh hounded Kim even at her approach. The imposing teen dynamo inspired no fear in Yori. Whether it was because Yori honestly didn't dread the look of baleful rage simmering in Kim's face, or because she was drugged up to the nines, neither of them knew. "You still treat him like an object. Your only thoughts are for yourself. That is why you will fail," she lamented, this time in a mournful tone and without any accusation. "And we will all die. My beloved Ron-kun will doom the world to a new Dark Age."

Kim trembled, willing away the urge to shut Yori's smart mouth. "You listen, and you listen good." Every word brought their faces closer to one another, and cut through the cotton haze of Yori's tranquilizers. "Ron loves you."

That got Yori's attention. "I was expecting…not that," she admitted.

"I get that," continued Kim, heedless of Yori's words. "I also get that there's nothing I can do about it. So I'll get you your _beloved_ back. But before I do," she added, "I'm going to get back the boy who used to drive my dad nuts when he'd eat all our leftovers. I'm going to save the boy whose knees I'd band-aid when he learned to ride his bike." The choked words brought no tears to Kim's eyes, only determination. "I want the boy whose cast I signed, and who I stuck by the whole summer when he thought he could fly off of his roof." Nose to nose, Kim growled at Yori, "Christmas is in four days. I haven't spent a Christmas without him since I was six, and I'm not starting now."

As Kim pulled away, Yori could not help but consider her in a new light. "I sometimes forget that you two have spent your entire lives together," she admitted.

Kim stopped at the door and looked back. "Ron's stronger than any of us realize. He's stronger than I'll ever be, and aside from the occasional rescue, he doesn't need me." Bitter laughter played a pair of tears down her cheeks. Her resolve flickered even as she spoke, so she hastened her words. "But you're right," she choked, "I am only thinking of myself. Because I'm the one that needs him."

"You cannot do this alone," Yori insisted. "Release me. Together, we have a chance."

Her tears gave way to shame, and she wiped the treacherous emotion from her face. "Tell me why they took him. What's all this 'Chosen One' business?" Yori looked away, restoring the stone around Kim's heart. "Fine. See you later."

The door thundered close, leaving Yori with what she knew would be her last memory of Kim Possible. "Goodbye, Kimberly-san," she called.

**To Be Continued**


	11. Death, Life, and Truth

_All-Purpose Disclaimer_

Kim Possible is not long for this world. A sad fact, given that the show seeming to replace it, _American Dragon Jake Long_, doesn't have a tenth of its cleverness and personality (though it does feature John DiMaggio). I can only pray they decide to show the remaining episodes before releasing _So The Drama_.

* * *

**Kim Possible  
The Power of Trust**

_by Cyberwraith Nine

* * *

_

Few phenomenons in nature can compete with the sensational experience of a sunset. But a sunset seen from the highest reaches of a mountain range just might be the greatest aesthetical achievement nature has ever concocted. Here, in the snowy dips and rises set so high above the rest of the world, colors looked brighter, unfettered by tiny complications like air, or the hazy grease of smog that choked cities. Angled fields of white ice reflected the light, creating prismatic patterns that changed with each passing second as the sun settled in toward its cradle over the horizon. Only a spectacular spectacle such as this could evoke nostalgia in one as hardened as Simia.

She glowed in the twilight, cross-legged atop a rounded stone cleared of snow as she watched this sight and lamented her six year gap since seeing it last. So many years spent in pursuit of her dream, away from the place she loved most. She could see its sleepy temples and ancient walls sitting across from her on an opposing peak. In her youth, Simia had spent hours sitting on this same rock, staring at her home from afar as she considered her destiny. The awe her venerable domicile inspired in person could not befuddle her senses from here, allowing her to put the world into a proper perspective. It was here that she first began planning the world's new Golden Age. It broke her heart to know that soon, her darling childhood home would suffer at her hands, a necessary evil in order for her to claim her destiny.

"Home always seems smaller when you come back, doesn't it?" she asked aloud. Her monkey warriors were already on their way to Yamanouchi, hiking ahead to ensure that any random patrols sent out to stop her were dealt with in a quiet and efficient manner. Brawler Monkeys weren't particularly adept listeners anyway. She would be there with them, but she wanted to see her favorite sunset one last time before transcending beyond her own humanity. Who knew what perceptions she would have upon becoming the world's greatest Monkey Master? "Everything that stole your breath when you were a child never has quite the same impact once you've grown beyond it." As if to illustrate this, she straddled the tiny school with her thumb and forefinger and it disappear through a single, squinted eye as she brought her fingers together. "But the sunsets…It would take a god to resist the sky's magnificence at this time of day. Don't you think?"

Ragged breath was her only answer at first, heaved from the lungs of one Kim Possible. She sat in the snow, buried up to the waist, propped up against a rock outcropping some distance behind Simia's perch. Her arm hung out before her, cradled across her lap at an unnatural angle. Kim couldn't tell if the limb was dislocated as well as broken. It was hard to see, because one eye refused to open any more, forced closed by a purple swelling. The other eye she kept wiping clean, but the blood seeping from a cut on her forehead refused to subside. "Go to hell," she rasped through bloated, bloodied lips.

"Poets often use sunsets as a metaphor for ends," remarked Simia. She looked back at her handiwork, blank faced to Kim's piteous moans and forced breathing. "It always seemed to me a poor comparison. Sunsets and sunrises are all part of the same cycle. Night and day are two sides of the same coin, never ending." Simia stood and rubbed her aching knuckles. "Here, now, we stand on the beginning of something; a new era in my destiny. In all our destinies, really." Framed by her solar delight, the Monkey Mistress crouched before her fallen adversary. "Though, I suppose in a way, this beginning is also an end. And end to the errant tyranny of mankind and its self-destructive ways."

The thought-provoking words splashed across Kim's face and soaked into her stained features. She gathered her response in her mouth, letting it swish to and fro, before expressing it right between Simia's eyes in a wet spray. Even through the blurry red of her blood, she could see disgust welling up in Simia as the ninja wiped clean her forehead with the back of her hand. "Where's Ron?" Kim demanded. The gesture lost some of its ferocity when his name rode a tortured yelp out of her chest. Something inside her leg protested her rebellious movement by way of shooting agony, forcing her to lean back against her provisional chair of stone and screw shut her remaining good eye.

Simia grunted a light, single laugh as she considered the gory spittle on her glove. "You've tracked me for the better part of two days, and that's all you can ask me?" Simia's grasp snaked out and ensnared Kim's injured arm, turning the girl's yelp into a sobbing scream. "Even in your last moments of life, you don't see the incredible events that you've found yourself a part of. The world is changing around you, gaijin! Don't you even care?"

_Two days of gallivanting over unfamiliar terrain, trying to keep out of sight. Air's so thin, can hardly breath. Wish I could use the grapnel, but they might hear. Scramble. Keep moving. No sign of Ron from far away. Have to get closer. Be quiet. Closer. Stay quiet. They'll see you, and then…Oh, no. Not quiet enough._

"Where's Ron?" Kim moaned around her pain. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth, slurring her words. In times of stress, she always fell back on humor and mockery for a twofold result. Her banter would unbalance her opponents and cloud their judgment with anger, but more important was its calming effects on her frazzled nerves. Kim knew she was not as brave as the world thought she was. Oftentimes, a simple quip, a jab at Drakken's latest inane scheme or a scathing assessment Killigan's garish tartan was the only thing keeping her from going mad with panic. There, in the mountains of Japan, Kim could muster no such defiance to combat the grim twist fate had handed her. Appropriate, her lingering rationality mused, that a mechanism she inherited from Ron should vanish in his absence.

_Monkeys. Too many, surrounding her. She lashed out with everything she had, breaking their formation, breaking their weapons, breaking their spirits and the vessels that held them. Half of Simia's forces lay in heaps, the other half retreating. Then Simia…too fast. Too strong. Tired, so tired. Pain. Arm doesn't work, switch sides, use the other. Ribs just cracked. Block, counter, punch, do something. Nice side kick. Feels like…knee, shattered. Leg…Don't pass out. Don't pass out. Don't…_

"Your Pretender is dead." Simia's words banished everything from Kim's mind. A dark smile settled onto the ninja's full lips, one that twisted her graceful features with petty pleasure at the hopelessness infecting Kim's red-stained emerald eye. "His body still lives on. The power blessing his unworthy meat keeps him alive. But he is mine, now. A tool with which I will save the world from itself."

_Simia wouldn't let Kim fall. One blow shocked her in one direction. Another bounced her the other way. Head, face, chest, legs, hips, sides…Couldn't keep up. No more strength. Couldn't stop her. Fist pounded into her eye. Couldn't see her. _

She leaned in closer, tilting on the balls of her feet. Snow crunched beneath her knees as Simia straddled Kim's broken body, but she felt neither pity nor the cold. "Soon enough, even his body will fail, as the power is transferred to its rightful owner." At this proximity, Kim could see the madness dancing in Simia's eyes. Her words were no mere boasts. They were her dogma. "And should you live to see the glorious moment when his powers become mine, you will bear witness to a great wrong being righted."

No. No, it couldn't be. "I don't believe you," Kim grunted. "You're lying." The twilight silhouetted Simia's face, leaving only her dark brown eyes glimmering in the living shadow. "I don't believe you," she said again.

"Denial will only prolong your grief, Possible." Simia stood and brushed the snow from her clothes. Clearly, further conversation with Kim would accomplish nothing. "Mourn your unrequited love, and prepare yourself for the future." Turning, she walked into the lingering wisps of her sunset, gliding across the snowy ground without noise. "Hmf. As if anyone could ever love a pasty creature like y-"

An icy rock bounced off the back of Simia's skull. No larger than an egg, it nonetheless possessed enough heft and force to stagger the spry woman and blur her vision. Sharp, stinging pain jumbled her senses so that she did not hear the war cry howling from Kim's throat as the teenager threw herself on top of Simia's shoulders. Armed with another rock of equal size, Kim brought her weapon to the side of Simia's head again and again. Blood seeped through waves of luxurious black hair and dribbled to the ground, quickly followed by Simia. Down on her knees, dizzy from the head trauma, she could offer no defense as Kim cracked her hard in the face and drove her onto the ground.

Kim tossed her primitive bludgeoner aside and climbed atop Simia. The ninja's struggle sent Kim's mangled leg into a fit of hysterics. Bones ground against one another with such force of pain that should have made her black out, but a pure fury, fueled by adrenaline, kept her focused. "You're lying," she bellowed, bringing her fist hard into Simia's face. Kim flailed against her prone enemy, striking anything and everything that presented itself as a target. It wasn't easy with only one functioning arm, but she became a living blur, crushing Simia and her arrogance with blow after blow. For all her high ideals, for every time Kim had promised herself to never allow this moment to come, there existed within her the profound desire to destroy Simia. She would kill Simia with her bare hands. "You monster," she sobbed, "You couldn't have. He-"

A strong hand grasped at the shoulder of her limp arm. Kim's collarbone bent and snapped beneath the pressure as that hand lifted her bodily from Simia, who laughed at Kim and her anguished scream. "He's right behind you," cackled she. The hand spun Kim in place, confirming what Simia said. A pair of blazing red eyes thrust themselves into Kim's face, angled by an omnipresent glare where an easygoing smile should have sat. "Ask," Simia said, rising unsteadily from Kim's attack, "And ye shall receive."

'God,' Kim thought to herself as Ron grasped her by the arms and lifted her off the ground, 'He's a lot taller than I thought.' Her toes dangled in the snow as he held her aloft. "Ron," she slurred, "Don't. You have to fight this. Put me down." Ron's brows lifted a notch. His features softened a moment, and Kim felt her boots sink further into the snow. "You can do this, Ron. Fight her. I believe in you."

Kim didn't even notice the pain screaming in her leg as Ron placed her back onto the ground. Her heart fluttered as Ron drew back, looking confused. His red eyes shifted about, as if searching for what to do. She hobbled forward, reaching out to him. "K…Kahhhy…P…Puh…" He struggled with the words, fighting to say the nickname that set her heart ablaze every time he said it.

"That's right," she winced. "KP. Remember? You have to remember. You have to fight."

"Yes," Simia called. "Fight, Stoppable."

The sound of a wet splatter accompanied intense pressure that spread all throughout Kim's chest. She felt the ground fall away from her distant toes as something warm spread all through her body, followed quickly by a chill that chased the warmth's heels. Ron's fingers twisted her mission shirt until it tore, letting her drop to the ground in a heap. She couldn't breath. Blood and bile bubbled in her throat, gargling her few remaining breaths. The snow was so cold. Inside and out, the cold became her world.

"Hmm. Wrong again, gaijin," Simia's voice floated through the ether. In the final rays of the setting sun, Kim could see one half of Ron's face hovering above her. Far-off footsteps crunched in the snow, growing further away by the second. "But perhaps not. Shall we find out?" Ron's face drew closer, intensifying the chill that shredded Kim's body. "Stoppable, do with her as you see fit. I know you were fond of her, and I'm sure one last moment of ecstasy will send her into her ancestors' arms with a smile."

Kim's lips pursed as tears of blood slithered down her cheek. The snow at her face turned cherry as silently gargled a single word; Why. But even that final question could not escape the bile of her ruptured organs poisoning the rest of her body. She felt Ron's hands press against her stomach, probably to worsen his handiwork. Even now, the heat of his touch fought against her shock, like fire against the unseen bleeding. He tore at her clothes, exposing more of her flesh to run his boiling hands across ivory fields of perfect, purplingskin. 'Not like this,' she sobbed to the enveloping darkness. 'Please, no. Ron…'

* * *

A cherry blossom broke from its branch with a gentle caress of the breeze. Taking flight, the tiny petals spiraled through twisting currents, pausing only in pockets of lazy, still air before continuing on. Its vibrant pink hue added color to the crisp blue sky before settling down onto the tip of Kim's nose. The gentle touch of the petals stirred Kim into wakefulness, and her eyes fluttered open to consider the flower a moment. 

She had no idea how long the blackened coma had held her in its clutches, or why she now found herself free of its grasp. The pain that formerly riddled her body and rendered it useless had evaporated, leaving her with a euphoric sensation. Even the more traditional aches and pains her adventurous life had bestowed upon her, like the twinge in her left knee (a souvenir from a bad parachute landing in Nepal), were nowhere to be found. Simply put, Kim felt fantastic.

Kim sat up, bracing herself against the softest grass she had ever felt, and brushed the playful petals from her nose. A warm summer sun imparted a warming summer's embrace onto that skin left bare outside of a silken kimono. The snowy material kept her modesty well intact, yet breathed easily enough to chase away the light sweat threatened by a very agreeable temperature. She patted down its ashen folds to check for that agony Ron's fists had pounded into her, the pain that had stretched her final seconds of wakefulness into eons of torture. Only healthy flesh revealed itself beneath her roaming hands. Far from relieved, she felt greater confusion seed itself in her already considerable worry.

"Well," Kim said, and then proceeded to express her confusion with the use of a word that would mortify her father and shame her mother.

Even as she stood and eyed her mountainous surroundings, she felt a sense of familiarity about this place. Snowcapped peaks rose on all sides of these rolling, hilly fields, and in the distance as well, guarding her napping spot and its venerable cherry tree. The scene she found herself in was a far cry better than rape and certain death at her best friend's hands, but she had learned the hard way to always look a gift horse in the mouth. "Where am I?" she muttered, brushing back her perfectly coifed waves of red hair with carefully manicured hands.

"Welcome to Mount Yamanouchi, Kimberly Possible," a wizen voice greeted her from behind. Kim turned to see a short man well-possessed of years descending the hill above her with measured, casual steps. His simple brown robes rustled between footfalls, and his smile was warm and inviting beneath a long, groomed moustache. Eyebrows like shrubbery lifted in examination of her defensiveness at his approach, which kept him a respectful distance away. "I have awaited our introduction with great anticipation," he explained.

She blinked at the newcomer, neither running nor returning the salutation. Her hands hovered halfway between ease and action, curled into fists near her hips. So far, Japan hadn't made a lasting impression of friendliness upon her, and this elderly addition, despite his reminding her an awful lot like her grandfather, wasn't about to catch her off guard, even if he did deviate from the painful pattern. "And you are?" she asked with open suspicion.

The tips of his facial hair swept through the grass as he bowed in greeting. With a twinkle in his eye, he said, "I am the headmaster of the Yamanouchi Academy. You may call me Sensei."

"Sensei?" The name, repeated by Kim, sparked something in her memory. "I don't suppose that means you're the one who taught Yori how to fight. You taught Ron to fight like that, too?"

"I among several other instructors." He nodded back in the direction he came, gesturing for her to follow him. "Will you walk with me? Our destination is not far from here, and I have been quite anxious to show you our school ever since Ronald came to us. Through his constant praise of you, I and the other tenants of Yamanouchi feel as though we already know you."

'Where have I heard that before?' she thought. "Why should I trust you?" she asked aloud. "You show up out of the blue and drop my name and Ron's name, and I don't even know where I am? Not good sense to go somewhere else until I know where I am, is it?"

"You met Ronald when you were four years old," Sensei responded with a placid tone that rocked Kim's core into silence. "On your first day of preschool, you encountered a young and rather disparaging girl named Bonita Rockwaller, who then proceeded to make you cry with a judgmental analysis of the ducky overalls you had picked out all by yourself. Ronald, armed only with his unimpressive wit, rushed to your defense by pushing Miss Rockwaller into a mud puddle."

Kim's mouth flapped open and closed, gasping for words without effect. "I never told anyone that story. Even my parents…"

Sensei smiled. "Ronald spent a week's worth of isolation indoors for that rescue. On his first recess following his sentence, you introduced yourself and kissed him on the cheek, to which he replied…"

"-'Are you trying to kill me?'" Kim finished in unison with Sensei. She laughed at the memory of his twisted, disgusted expression, and the hysterical hyperventilation that followed. "I don't believe it. Ron really told you all that?"

"Among other things." Sensei again extended his hand in the direction of the hill he had come down. Far above it, the towering peak of a mountain faded into the wispy bottom of a cloud. "Please. I know you have little reason to trust me, and I do not ask you to. All I desire is to give you the answers you have sought since the beginning of your quest for the Idol of Simor."

Kim felt torn. She tugged at the immaculate edges of her kimono's sleeves, biting her painted lower lip in indecision. Every instinct she had told her to find her own way. But then again, every instinct up to this point had gotten her flat on her back in the snow, with a best friend for her murderer and organs spilling God knows what into the rest of her body. "Well, I guess if I'm dead, you can't do much worse to me."

Sensei led the way, careful to stay a step in front of Kim to put her mind at ease. As they crested the grassy rise, they came across a beaten path of dirt lined with polished volcanic stones. The winding trail followed a short, flat portion of the mountain, walled in on one side with solid vertical rock, the other side open to the sprawling valley half-hidden by mist that was actually clouds that aspired to the peak's lofty heights. "You are not dead, Miss Possible," Sensei informed her. "Far from it. One of my students found you in the foothills and brought you to our school for recuperation."

Not dead. That was good, right? "So why is it summer?" she asked, still just as confused. "And why am I dressed in this?" The kimono's hem spread as she pulled at its edges to display the intricate pattern of blue leaves crafted into its edges. "Not that I mind, but this isn't how I thought my number would be punched."

"Once again," said Sensei with stanch patience, "You are not dead. At the moment, you are lying in the school. What you see before you is merely a psychosomatic representation of a physical realm, constructed and shared by my mind, and projected into yours."

"Like telepathy?" Doubt once again tinged in Kim's mouth. It seemed a little sci-fi for their oriental fairy tale excursion. "How is that possible?"

"There are many things humanity has forgotten," Sensei said sagely, "In their blind quest forging toward the future. It takes considerable practice, which is why my student must assist you in our connection."

"And the kimono?" pressed Kim.

He shrugged. "I thought you would look lovely in white. Clearly, my premonition was accurate." Kim blushed at the fatherly comment, but chased the redness away when he added, "Now, are you adequately sure of your surroundings? I regret my own rudeness, but the effort my student must expend to maintain this link is significant. She will not be able to maintain it indefinitely."

"I'm sorry," Kim apologized. "Please, continue."

Their path angled upward and took them around a sharp bend. Though the atmosphere must have been very thin, but her lungs moved air in and out with no added effort. Such detailed care in a pathway spoke well of Sensei's affection for this mountain. Without any words, Kim could tell he loved this place. "Here at Yamanouchi, I have devoted my life toward the continuation of our way of life."

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that you guys don't teach algebra here." She laced her fingers behind her head. As long as she was in someone else's dream, she might as well enjoy herself. The summer sun felt nice, and the air smelled sweet, like fresh flowers plucked from a field.

A grunted laugh answered her glib interruption. "Did Ronald return from Japan with any expanded skill in mathematics, or any other ineffectual skills your educational system offers?" He shook his head. "No. It is here, on this hallowed mountain, that the ways of the ninja have found their final refuge in man's technocracy."

"Ninja." Kim thought back to all the amazing things Ron had suddenly discovered himself capable of since his return last September. "That actually makes a lot of sense. But tell me something. Don't you people usually trust outsiders? I mean, no offense, but I've been called a gaijin so many times, it's started to lose all meaning."

"As a rule," explained Sensei, "No. Ronald is our first Caucasian student. The school's governors disapproved, of course, but it isn't the first time I've defied tradition and protocol based on my own intuition. So far, I've had a fifty percent success rate with such radical decision-making."

Kim frowned. "I'm a little afraid to ask what the other fifty is."

"I trained my daughter, personally, in the arts of Tai Shing Pek Quar. I taught her of our ways, our traditions, and the destiny of our school." At this, the twinkle in Sensei's eye faded, replaced with a heavy sadness that dipped his chin down onto the collar of his robes. He slowed, forcing Kim to do the same. The sunlight actually faded, providing Kim with direct evidence that Sensei was indeed the master of this realm, and not just the weaver of a fanciful, entertaining lie. "Because I loved her as her father, and not as her teacher, I failed her. I may have failed us all."

"Simia…" The name of her hated enemy burned across Kim's lips in a hoarse whisper as the sunlight returned, and their gait became steady once more. "Tsuruko. She's your daughter, isn't she?"

Sensei nodded. "My pride and joy. But when we discovered that Ronald is our Chosen One, Tsuruko could not bear the loss of her dreams. She believed herself to be Chosen by the Ancients. Distraught, she left Yamanouchi." A long, dreary sigh forced struck Kim with just how old Sensei really was. His wrinkles deepened as he brought forth long-fought memories. "I had not seen her since, until this very day."

She waved back his depressing reminiscence with a "Whoa, whoa, whoa…What's this 'Chosen One' business all about?"

The change of subject lifted Sensei's spirits. Kim watched as he straightened, gaining a new spring in his step as they continued to circle the peak. One glance beyond the safety of their path was enough to give even a seasoned adventurer like Kim a dash of vertigo. "Legend speaks of a Chosen One." Sensei busted with pride, as if he had crafted this legend himself, and was personally responsible for its implementation by way of _her_ best friend. "A Monkey Master who will one day change the world. This Master will wield our sacred weapon, the Lotus Blade, and use the unmatchable power of the Ancients to bring about a new epoch."

"But what kind of changes are you talking about? I don't understand." Why were ancient prophecies always so goddamned cryptic? Couldn't those musty ancient guys get any details recorded on those endless pages of foretelling that seemed to crop up all too often in their atypical lives?

Her unspoken question somehow reached Sensei's ears, for he answered first with a knowing smile before saying, "Sight into the future is often unclear, indistinct. Perhaps you will notice that the next time your eyes show you into what is yet to come."

Kim returned the smile. "Point taken." Their path began to level off, heralding their destination's proximity. She felt her excitement growing at the thought of finally seeing what all the hoo-hah was all about. "But now, Simia's put all of that in danger, right? She's using that idol to control him. She said something about 'transferring his power' or something."

"The next natural step in her plans," nodded Sensei.

Now Kim became the mind reader. "Ron won't survive the process, will he?"

Sensei shook his head. "I'm not entirely sure he survives even now. His spirit could be lost to us even now, a victim of the Idol's spell." A pause, and then, "Which is why you must not fail him, one way or the other. You must stop Simia at all costs, which will mean stopping Ronald."

As they crested the last rise, Kim felt her attention splitting away from Sensei and to the majestic walls seated atop the peak of Yamanouchi. Stonework older than anything Kim had ever seen weathered the test of time with unbelievable grace, no doubt aided by Sensei and those like him, those whose very lives revolved around the prestige and venerability radiating from the school. The tops of red-tiled roofs peeked over the walls' edges, veritable skyscrapers for buildings of their time. A pair of cherry trees old enough to be Kim's great-great-grandfather stood guard on either side of towering wooden doors, wooden sentinels that hadn't wavered in their duties for generations.

Sensei's words sunk in, poisoning the wonder inspired in her by Sensei's home. "Me? Don't get me wrong, I'm all about helping out. But you have a whole school devoted to this kind of thing. You must be sick with ninjas."

"Perhaps. But in this case," Sensei clarified, "A ninja is not what we need." He led the way across a dizzying ravine, comfortable with the swinging, creaking wood-lined rope bridge that set Kim on edge (though, thankfully, not in a literal sense). "Simia is intimately knowledgeable in the ways of Yamanouchi and its secrets. She has beneath her thrall the most powerful force on the planet. Our only hope is the one person that knows that force better even than herself."

Stop Ron, by any means? Kim didn't like the sound of that, and said as much. "I don't know if I can do what you're asking of me."

"Perhaps," Sensei said again. They reached the double doors that would lead them into Yamanouchi Academy. The gateway held a plethora of monkey icons carved into its wooden frame. The mirthful creatures danced with different Japanese kanji, some of which Kim recognized. Honor. Duty. Stealth. And in the center: Destiny. "But we both know that you will."

Kim stared up at the door, reaching out to touch its ancient lines. The wood felt smooth and cool beneath her touch, worn down by centuries of love and use. "How can you be so sure?"

Sensei reached out to push the doors open. They twitched with a long, moaning creak as he reminded her, "Because you can do anything." And with that, Sensei leaned heavily against the doors, bringing Kim at last into the world Ron had secreted away from her.

* * *

Those aches Kim felt the absence of during her walk with Sensei returned to her as her senses once again became her own to experience. They complained at her sudden sitting up, though not to the incurable extent that Kim had expected after Ron had shattered her insides. Rather, it was akin to a day following too many crunches, or a nasty case of cramps. Her pupils, still pinpoints from her jaunt under a summer sun, took a moment to adjust to the flickering light that fought the darkness all around her. Musty smoke and dust strangled the air flowing in her lungs, clenching her chest with a series of coughs that racked her troubled frame until she adjusted to that, too. 

"So," a familiar voice intoned from behind her between coughs, "You're awake."

Kim turned around, and found a fatigued facsimile of Yori Akamatsu kneeling on a mat of reeds identical to the one beneath the teen heroine. Though a floor of sturdy wooden planks rested beneath those mats, Kim could just make out a blanket of pinpoint lights framing Yori's fallen face. Inside, yet outside…the answer came to Kim when she looked about with now-ready eyes, and saw a sight which wrenched her heart into her throat.

The remains of a room formed a squared perimeter around the girls, blackened at its stubby rim, still touched by the heat of waning flames in one or two spots. A multitude of fires lay elsewhere, casting the light by which Kim saw the remains of a once proud school in the throes of its final, tortured moments. Buildings and trees older than entire nations lay in heaps, mutated into rubble and ash by the omnivorous blaze. The green grass Kim had felt wriggle between her toes in Sensei's vision, turned a crinkled brown by winter's slumbering effects, were charred into a crispy black that could not stand against the icy breeze that now blew unimpeded through the ruins of Yamanouchi's protective walls.

Yori shifted, revealing a slight, stirring shape on a third mat behind her. Even in the firelight, Kim could recognize the wispy beard and bushy beetle brow of the school's attentive headmaster. "Welcome to Yamanouchi," Yori said with exhausted sarcasm. "I would give you the tour, but I fear you can see all remaining points of interest from within Sensei's meditation room."

"KIM!" A pink blur leapt from Yori's side and crashed into Kim's chest, ignoring the bare flesh exposed by her shredded shirt. Rufus nuzzled his bristling whiskers against Kim's chin as she folded her arms around his tiny form and returned his hug with equal ferocity. As soon as their reunion was spent, he launched into a series of unintelligible chatters. Even one as experienced with mole rat-ese as Kim only caught one or two words, the most important phrase of which being, "never alone again!"

Still cradling her naked friend, Kim looked to Yori with a questioning green gaze. "What happened here?"

"Ron-kun happened." Yori exorcised the words from her mouth, sounding as though she herself needed further convincing. "As I tracked you while you were tracking Simia, I found you lying in the snow. You were unconscious."

Kim recalled the shock setting into her body with a residual chill. "I was dying," she amended Yori's retelling.

A shake of the head sent Kim's thoughts tumbling elsewhere. She barely heard Yori say, "No, merely out cold. I bore you upon my shoulders in hopes of getting us safely to Yamanouchi. I was but three kilometers away when I first saw the fires…" The firelight danced in her eyes, further haunting the young ninja with a constant reminder of her own failure. Rubble sifted through her hands as she ran them along the floor, letting the ash and particles dance in the air as they fell through her fingers. "By the time we arrived, we were far too late. Simia and her forces had already absconded with the Lotus Blade."

The mention of their sacred weapon sparked Kim's memory, furthering the gears turning in her head, but she would to keep her thoughts to herself until Yori provided her with all the details. "What about the students? Your teachers?"

"All gone," whispered Yori. "They must have retreated with our dead and dying down the mountain. Those they did not carry, they left." Her eyes flickered to a particular fire set several dozen yards away, a mound set aflame that Kim could not bear to look at twice. "Only Sensei remained. I found him when his spirit called out to mine, and dug him from the rubble of this meditation chamber. But now I am too fatigued to hear him, and I fear his spirit wanes with the effort as well…" Yori brushed Sensei's flowing hair with the gentility of a child, and blinked back sorrowful tears that Kim found mirrored in her own eyes.

Kim sought the professional within her, and buried all her delinquent emotions as deep as she could. "I'm sorry," she offered Yori, knowing full well how pitiful the gesture was. "I don't know what it's like to lose a father, but…" She trailed off, at a loss for words. Such was not a comfortable feeling for such an eloquent woman as she to be in, not knowing what to say.

A placid smile spread in Yori's lips as she gave in to her tears, running her gloved hand across Sensei's craggy jaw. "He truly felt like a father to me," she murmured. "He knew me in ways a blood relative never could."

"I…" Kim could not mask her confusion. "I thought he was your…You said Simi…Tsuruko," she forcibly corrected herself, "Were sister."

"A sister in arms," corrected Yori. "Such bonds can be stronger than any forged by heritage." The tears swelled, glistening on her cheek in the tragic twilight that consumed her home. "I found in Tsuruko a better part of myself. Something to admire…something to aspire to. She always seemed so strong, and I wanted to be just like her."

Rufus moaned beneath Kim's unconscious stroke, allowing the teen to work out her spillover sorrow in the trembling folds of his amorphous flesh. She squeezed Ron's little buddy tightly and recalled the face that Yori's recollection brought forth in her mind. "Someone who you could always count on, even when you couldn't count on yourself."

A nod sent teardrops spilling out onto Sensei's distressed face. "But my sister is dead," she sniffed, drawing her fears and uncertainty back within her and donning the cold, unseen armor of the ninja. "The shell that bears her name has destroyed my home and slain my Master. I cannot allow this to go unpunished."

"_We_ won't," promised Kim. "But we have to figure out where Tsuruko went."

The reality check forced a new weight onto Yori's slender shoulders. Her sinewy frame buckled and dropped, slumping into renewed defeat. "She could be anywhere by now," she lamented with a sigh. "And her training outstrips my own. We will never be able to track her, especially now that she has armed Ron-kun with the Lotus Blade. His power is absolute now."

Something didn't sit right with Yori's version of their plight, and Kim's experienced eye for supervillainy spotted it in a flash. "It doesn't add up," insisted Kim. "You say Simia's wanted this 'Chosen One' power since forever. She's not going to give all that up now, even if she can use Ron like a psychotic Muppet of Doom."

"But you destroyed one of her idols back in Tokyo," Yori reminded her. "The transfer of power was interrupted, and unless she gains knowledge of the idols' construction, she cannot resume it."

"I don't buy it," Kim maintained. "You may know ninjas, and you may know Simia, but I know supervillains. So far," lamented the wonder teen, "She's turning out to be a natural. And like all the pros, I'm willing to bet she has a backup plan prepped in case her first one fell through."

"Perhaps…" Yori began to cave to Kim's way of thinking.

"Think about it," Kim said. "Look at how fast she reacted after I dusted her first plan. She had Ron's blood sponging into her other idol inside of minutes. And," she added, "We know she's had years to plan all this out."

Yori's brow creased in thought. Strands of tussled raven hair fell into her face as she leaned forward, staring intently at the ground. "But why would she attack Yamanouchi? Unless she thought Sensei could stop her…?"

A shake of Kim's head chased that notion away. "Second rule of villainy is, never go picking fights you don't have to. Sensei sent you out to stop her. She could have sucked Ron dry, and then finished this ninja nest at her own leisure. She must have needed something…" The answer came to her in an instant. "The Lotus Blade."

"Our sacred weapon?"

She nodded. "Simia said something about a 'transfer' before she sent Super Ron after me. Maybe this weapon thing is some kind of conduit, too."

"Yes." A dawn of realization arose in Yori's golden features, outshining the death and destruction smothering her from all sides. Her newfound hope brought her to her feet, where Kim joined her in excited deduction. "Yes, the Lotus Blade responds only to the powers of a Monkey Master. It would make sense that the weapon could channel that power as well."

"And when combined with a magic artifact designed to keep a 'Chosen One' in check," Kim began.

Yori picked up on the thought without missing a beat. "-it could transfer the power into whoever controls the Idol." She let loose with an un-ninja-like squeal and grasped Kim's shoulders, jumping with delight. "That's it! She will use the combined powers of the Idol and the Blade to force Ron-kun's powers into herself!" Then she blinked, thinking back over her own words. Her excitement gave way to somber fear. "Oh. This does not bode well for us."

"It's a start," Kim assured her. "You need to think; where could Simia perform something like this? If I know my magic," and years of experience with the strange and unbelievable had left Kim with a far better understanding of the stuff than she would have preferred, "This kind of ritual has to have some sort of focal point."

The answer came immediately. "The First Temple." Kim's confusion drew a further answer from Yori. "It is a chamber in which our founder, the venerable Master Toshimiru, meditated in the fledgling days of the Yamanouchi Academy."

"How far?"

"Three kilometers, possibly fewer." Excitement glinted in Yori's eyes, the reflection of Kim's own enthusiasm. Where moments ago she had felt only loss, the void within her now brimmed with hope. She strode forth and cleared the remaining foot of crumbled wall in a single bound. No height seemed beyond her reach now, for she was as light as a feather, as strong and determined as steel. "Come. I will lead the way."

Kim called, "Wait a minute." She planted Rufus in her pocket, where the naked mole rat took residence in what remained of her pants. Kim's torn sports bra held fast only with help from her calloused fingers, and even then she knew it would be a miracle if it and her shredded mission shirt lasted another moment. "I'm all about the need for speed right now, but I'm not about to face anyone looking like this."

For a brief moment, Yori's face enjoyed a genuine grin, even if it was at her own expense. "Forgive me," she asked, returning to the mats. There, next to Sensei's still body, rested a neatly folded square of black cloth. Further digging by Yori's hands through a stack of rubble arranged by her design revealed a dusty, scratched sheath and hilt, containing a katana which Yori presented to Kim without further delay. "I know you are unaccustomed to such clothing," she apologized, "But it was the best I could find."

Only someone as mindful of manners as Yori would apologize for not being able to scrounge up better threads from rubble, a thought that brought an amused smirk to Kim's lips as she unfurled her very own ninja garb. It looked to be the right size, too, leading Kim to question just how long and how hard Yori had searched to find her something to wear. "You think of everything," she said with more than a touch of admiration.

"Yes," agreed Yori. Her solemnity reappeared, wiping the mirth from her features as a dark thought she had done her best to suppress surfaced at last. "This is why I must now ask a favor of you."

"Name it."

Kim would not have responded so quickly if she had known Yori's next words were to be, "When the time comes, I must be the one to slay Ron-kun."

Kim blinked once, twice, thrice, trying to fathom how her opinion of Yori could flip-flop so violently in the space of mere seconds. "No one is killing Ron," she told the ninja. Rufus punctuated this thought with a 'yeah' and a squeal. "We'll stop Simia, rescue Ron, and save the day without killing anyone."

"Naiveté ill suits you," Yori told her with narrowed eyes.

The brusque observation was ill-equipped to match Kim's ferocious glare. "You said when you found me, I was unconscious." At Yori's nod, Kim continued, "But I remember Ron hitting me hard before I blacked out. Killing hard. And there was this…heat. Like fire, but not."

Her vague description struck a chord in Yori's memory. Unconsciously, her fingers traced along an invisible line beneath the smooth fabric of her uniform, recalling that same, indescribable sensation Kim now hunted fruitlessly for words with which to express. "Ron-kun…is capable of the things you describe. But-"

"But that means there's something left of him in there," Kim said with an air of finality. With one hand lifting her stretchy new clothes by the hood, she used the other to unsheathe her new blade. The glimmering alloy reflected her own determined features in a flash as she drew it through the air, testing its weight. As she suspected, Yamanouchi's weapon possessed unparalleled balance, and swung in time with her skillful, practiced hand. "Nobody dies on my watch, least of all Ron."

Yori drew in a disparaging breath, ready to launch into a tirade to batter down Kim's foolishness. Seeing the redhead's stubborn face solidify further, she simply said, "You cannot save everyone, Kimberly-san. It is impossible."

"Check my name," Kim retorted. With a jerk of her wrist, she tossed the ninja garb into the air. Two quick swipes with the katana's razor edge sliced through the material, creating a thick, circular ribbon where the garment's waist had been. Kim caught her clothes by the hood once more, letting the newly formed bottoms and the eliminated midriff flutter to the ground as she held the refashioned belly shirt up to her chest. From the looks of it, the uniform would leave her taught, sexy stomach appreciably bare, just the way she liked it.

"And if it comes down to it," Yori asked with steely voice as Kim shucked her old clothes in favor of the new ones, "Will you be able to do what needs to be done?"

Kim's head popped through the top. She readjusted the hood to fit her glorious red mane, then brought the mask to fit over her mouth and nose. "Won't happen," Kim assured her, pulling the waistline of the stretchy material up to sit higher on her hips. The katana she looped over her shoulder, tying the strap tight over her chest. She rubbed at her tight abdominals, feeling the twinge left by Ron's fist. "We save everybody. Period."

"But if it comes down to it," insisted Yori.

In the silence of Kim's consideration, only the crackling destruction of Yamanouchi broke the soundless mountaintop's emptiness. Rufus, perched atop Kim's shoulder opposite the hilt of her katana, waited patiently for her answer, just as Yori did. Finally, Kim said in a low, slow tone, "If it comes down to it, I'll make the right choice. If it comes down to it." Emerald fire overshadowed the flames that snuffed in her swirling path as she exited the ruins of Sensei's chamber, intent on leaving behind this dying relic to save the future. "But I won't let it come down to it."

**To Be Continued

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**

Sorry for the delay, everyone. When I first wrote this, it turned out all wrong, unworthy of being the lynchpin of the entire story. From here on out, Kim will face the demons of her past, the demons of her heart, and be forced to make a real choice. The Power of Trust will change her life forever…but will it be for the better, or will that power bring only sorrow? Only time will reveal these secrets.


	12. The First Temple

_All-Purpose Disclaimer_

Kim Possible makes no guarantees that her latest undertaking, The Power of Trust, will shock and delight you. Material will be rehashed, lines will become tired and cliché, and as always, the guy will get the girl in the end.

Psyche! Nothing is what it seems, ninnies! Heroes become victims, victims become heroes, fact is fallacy, and love is shattered. Everything you believed in will be tested. Or not. It's up to you. Remember that truth requires consequences, but not all consequences yield truth.

Okay, so I don't really understand it either, but I've worked really hard on this one, so bear with me.

* * *

**Kim Possible  
****The Power of Trust**

_by Cyberwraith9

* * *

_

Flickering torches stood at attention along the edge of the First Temple and cast their glow, doing their best to fight the oppressive and freezing pitch that held dominion over the entire cave. Their battle went poorly, and they would lose in the end, but Simia knew they would hold the black at bay long enough to suit her purposes. She felt neither the grasp nor the chill of that dread winter night. The excited shiver coursing through her body kept her warm, and set her face aglow with an inner radiance that put to shame the piteous torchlight.

High above, the rounded ceiling of Toshimiru's meditative chamber grinned with knobby stalactite teeth, the only evidence of the room's natural origins. Smooth lines composed the unusual walls and floor of the cave. Legend claimed that Toshimiru carved this room out of the peak with his enchanted katana in a single day before using it to build Yamanouchi. No one had ever been able to prove or disprove the tale, but anyone standing within the hallowed cavern could see that it was no ordinary pocket within the mountain. A feeling permeated the stale air within, a sense of life amidst the lifelessness that left one with a dark, quiet calm.

Less than half her monkeys remained, a mere five of her original dozen. The rest had died in the assault on Yamanouchi, or had been too grievously injured to continue on, and were left in the rotting corpse of that backward institution. Those strong enough to continue now swept the unnaturally smooth floor of the cave bare of nine centuries' worth of debris and cobwebs. They prepared a tight circle of fragrant red candles in the chamber's center, within which sat Simia's hard-won prizes.

The losses her forces had suffered should have saddened Simia, and she knew this, but she felt nothing at the thought of her disciples' tragic ends. Still worse was the destruction of her childhood school, the place of her birth, and the only home by her own hand. Yamanouchi held so many good memories for her, more than enough to outweigh the bad times. But its ashes brought no tears to her eyes. On the eve of her ascent, she knew only excitement, and needed no one, save for her one soldier standing attentively to one side of the sacramental circle.

"I felt remorse for what I had to do," she recalled aloud, "Before the attack." Simia formed her own circle, walking a slow, even pass around the insensate blond. "But seeing you in your full form, seeing all that power…How could I help but reach an epiphany?" Coming from behind, Simia draped herself over his compact, muscular shoulders and whispered in his ear. "They were nothing to you. Generations spent preparing for your arrival, and their collective might was but the scratch of a flea upon your nose."

Ron did not flinch as her breath ghosted across his cheek from rosy lips just a hair's breadth away from a kiss. His luminescent eyes cut a resolute swath of scarlet terror across the chamber that even the bravest of Simia's monkeys didn't dare meet. Every muscle in Ron's body remained tensed, rock-like, the sensation of which drove Simia to new levels of excitement. She could feel this intense cold heat burning into her through their thin garb, and pressed herself tighter to his back.

"The power," she breathed with drunken lust, "The immense potential. I spent a lifetime reading of it, a lifetime in preparation for it. Now I realize that no book can do it justice." Simia touched her hand to Ron's face, turning his head so that she could stare with adoration into that which her minions feared. "Nothing could prepare me for it. For you. And yet, in a few minutes, I will gladly accept this gift, this grave responsibility." A tiny smirk graced her delicate beauty. "Perhaps destiny works in more roundabout ways than we sometimes believe."

Ron remained still. He made no effort to resist Simia's arms as they slid around his neck. His Master slithered to his front, grinding her body against his. Their noses bumped at the proximity.

Simia rested her forehead on Ron's. "I used to hate you, Stoppable. But you are a victim of destiny's oversight, just as I am." The power she felt radiating from him made her chest swell into his with an impassioned gasp. "Such force," she whispered, lowering her lips onto his, parting her mouth in anticipation. "What does it taste like, I wonder?"

The world blazed with red hatred the instant Simia's lips touched his. She felt a wave of pure force slam into her chest and knock her to the floor. Simia lay on her back a moment and gulped in cold air. Wisps of scarlet energies dissipated around Ron's stoic outline as she sat back up and assaulted her slave with a glare.

"You reject me?" Her outburst straddled the division between anger and shock as it trundled from Simia's throat. She pinwheeled her legs beneath her and pushed off, spanning the distance between them as fast as it had been created. Ron bore the brunt of her impact with the solidarity of a stone pillar. Nary a muscle on his face twitched as she bounced off his chest and proceeded to yowl in his face. "I offer you one last comfort before oblivion reclaims you, and you spurn me?" Simia grasped the sides of his face and hissed. This time, their proximity burned with open, mutual hatred. "I command, you obey." Nose crushed nose as her voice bit into his placid scowl. "My word is your law." She mashed her lips against his with passionless hunger.

Power erupted from Ron's skin once more, hammering Simia more than double the distance it had the first time. Simia's monkeys shrieked with fright as she slid through their painstakingly constructed circle, toppling candles as she stuttered to a halt before her precious idol. Pins scattered beneath her skin, and the lingering voice of an ancient titan's wordless insults rang in her ears. It took a full minute for her to sit up and another after that for the tingle to vanish. The monkeys around her approached slowly, grasping at her arms to help her to her feet. She shook the aid off with a snarl and chased them back to repairing the circle with an upturned hand.

"Your mind is gone," yowled Simia as she barreled at him from the floor. "Your soul is enslaved. Your powers will be mine, and moments from inevitable death, you still resist me?" Silent footfalls drilled into her through a lifetime of training fled from the path of her pounding feet and the dust they kicked up. "I possess the physique of a goddess, the spirit of a warrior, a soul of unmatched passion, and you dare spurn me?" She reached Ron again, but this time, she would not touch him. Instead, her fingertip hovered in front of his face, driving home each point with a twitching jab. "All is lost to you, Stoppable. You have nothing left to fight for. Why do you resist me?"

It took clear effort for Ron to part his lips. The light in his eyes faltered a moment, leaving immaculate chestnut remorse where the power of the ancients had been. Broken breath whistled across his teeth as he gathered his response, crafting it with exacting precision. The end product sighed from his chest in little more than a whisper. A single word rattled from his chest, a name of unapproachable significance to Ron that explained everything. The forlorn sparkle in his eye flared sharply before Simia's cruel hold over him extinguished it in a blazing curtain of red.

Simia spat the name back in his face. "You are a sentimental fool," she told him. "Fine. If you will not let me taste the power, then I shall dine on its entirety, and to hell with you. Come!"

Unable to refuse the command, Ron followed her in silence into the reconstructed candle circle, where Simia's monkeys waited. They sat in a pentagonal array outside of the ring, eyes closed, hoods raised, hands joined in reverent silence as they waited for their Master's order. Each monkey regarded those artifacts that Simia took in hand with a wide berth. There existed a general consensus among her minions that the Idol and the Lotus Blade were not baubles to be trifled with. An ancient racial memory warned them of the dangers their Master sought to birth into their world. But as much as they feared the Blade and their stone cousin, they each feared Simia's wrath just a little more.

The simian circle began a rhythmic chant of grunts and yowls as the two humans stood facing one another within the ring's perimeter. Ron's features darkened a fraction as Simia took her Idol in one hand and wielded the Lotus Blade with the other. "For all the setbacks I have suffered," Simia called out, lowering the tip of the Blade to rest in front of Ron's stomach as her voice echoed back to them. "For all the indignities destiny has heaped upon me, I take my remittance."

She thrust the tip of the blade into Ron's stomach. The ancient metal, sharpened to the width of an anorexic hair, parted his abdominals as though they weren't there and delved straight into his core. Something deep within him began siphoning through the Lotus Blade, seeping out of his body and across the long, silvery shaft to the hilt, where Simia's hand lapped at the nebulous scarlet energies.

Ron's seconds stretched into eons. His eyes rolled back into his head. He dropped to his knees as his essence fled his body in lumps of magic in between the river of blood seeping out around the Blade. Beneath the layers of mystic control, stifled by Simia's stranglehold, a primal scream worked its way from his core. The cry never made it past his stony façade. Without a word, Ron Stoppable watched his life spill out over the floor as his destiny drained away, leaving behind a cold, numbing void.

Her heart beat faster and faster as Simia felt the incredible spirit enter into her. It filled every nook of her soul, electrifying every cell in her body. Senses beyond her mortal grasp suddenly awakened, filling her mind with new thoughts and feelings and wonderment at such a rate that it very nearly shattered her sanity. She gasped and clung to the blade, bidding more and more out of her slave to quench a thirst twenty years in the making. "Oh God," she sobbed joyously as her world spun. "The colors…"

A size seven boot snapped into Simia's jaw, forcing her to let go of the Lotus Blade as it sent her reeling back. Without the agony of the process to keep him aloft, Ron fell to his knees with only a grunt to signify the hideous sensation Simia's ritual forced upon him. Simia didn't concern herself with his pain, though, and instead focused on her own. How could she still feel anything like a mere kick? And for that matter, shouldn't Stoppable be dead yet? "No!" she roared, "It was almost mine!"

Finishing her swing from a taut grapnel line, Kim Possible landed on the smooth obsidian floor in a graceful plant that any gymnast would envy. "Hate to rain on your parade," she sneered, locking her glowering green eyes on Ron's would-be killer, "But you and I have some issues we haven't finished working out."

Simia's shock reworked itself into blinding rage as her otherworldly senses faded away. With the ritual interrupted, her powers were not absolute at the moment. She couldn't feel any of what she had before, only a sick emptiness where the power had been. "You," she uttered, balling her hands into shaking fists. Simia rose from the floor with slow, furious intent poisoning her former splendor. "You still live."

"What can I say?" Kim shrugged, settling into a basic fighting stance and waggling her fingers for Simia to try her luck. "I'm part cat, I guess."

The glare Kim dished out couldn't compare to the scathing look of hatred Simia beamed back. "You are a cockroach," spat Simia. But it did raise the question of how she actually had made it off that mountain pass alive. Simia had seen Stoppable crush her with a single blow before leaving him to have his way with… "Stoppable!" she barked, shooting her glare toward the still-bleeding Ron. "You dare taint my power by saving her miserable life?"

"Your power?" A light laugh rippled the taut abs exposed by Kim's midriff-revealing ninja uniform. Her face held none of the humor in her voice, which she mustered for no other reason than to spite Simia. It worked. "Last time I checked, he was the hero, and you were the zero." Again, her fingers gave Simia a 'come hither' gesture matched with a nigh-sinister smile. "So, are we going to fight, or are you going to come up with another monologue about speech and destiny? I don't really need the breather," she taunted, "But maybe you do. That big head must get heavy."

Simia stopped in mid-stride, trembling with a rage she could no longer contain. "Your arrogance has sealed your demise," she said with glacial fury. Her fingers snapped, summoning her monkey ninjas to readiness. A gesture held them at bay as she condemned Kim with a sickening smile. "You don't handle leeway well, Stoppable, so I'll make this perfectly clear. Kill Kimberly Possible."

Ron's reacted in an instant. He reached up, tore the Lotus Blade from his stomach, and hurled it aside. The mystic weapon flew and sunk to the hilt into the stone wall, where it quivered to a rest. The blood pouring from his stomach sealed itself with a flash of scarlet while he pushed his feet back underneath him. No carefree smile, no 'Booyah,' offset the baleful glare on his face. Her attacker resembled him, but when Kim dove away from the soaring side kick meant to take her head from her shoulders, she knew it wasn't Ron attacking her. Not on the surface, anyway.

"Why not cut the strings on your puppet?" Kim back-flipped away from the spray of stone shards torn from the ground beneath Ron's luminous foot. "Take me on for real this time, Monkey Girl."

Simia's smile widened. She watched her slave pull his foot from the floor and rush after Kim. "Perhaps I will allow myself the pleasure of breaking your neck under my heel. But I think your beloved is better suited to soften you up," she mused aloud. Her monkeys hooted with each with each crushing blow Kim scrambled to avoid. Together, Master and disciples watched Kim Possible's bravado wane as her best friend chased her back down the even lines of the corridor leading back up to the snowy mountaintop. As they disappeared into the tunnel's gloom, Simia reclaimed her certainty that the irritating American would no longer cause her grief. "But more likely, Stoppable's zeal will deny me this trivial delight."

"I think you will be otherwise engaged, murderer." A second grapnel line swung from the ceiling, carrying a dark shape into Simia's ranks. The simian formation bowled in every direction as furious feet flurried at them, catching arms and chests and faces before they (the feet, not the forces) touched lightly down onto the hallowed ground. "You will have to be content with me instead," Yori informed her as she took her shape from the inky shadows. She took a stance similar to Kim's and scowled. A dark cloak muffled her rigid frame of tensed muscles ready for action.

The attack hardly broke Simia's confidence and left her smile intact. It took her monkeys a moment more to collect themselves again, and this time each of them stood prepared with a stunted katana in hand. A collective glimmer danced in their beady little eyes, a hunger for slaughter bred into their species.

Yori regarded the monkey mob with disdain. "Haven't we tried this already?"

Simia laughed. "Look around you, sister dear. We're in the very spot Toshimiru first set upon himself the task of carving my future. We stand upon the whittled efforts of the First. Where else on Earth but here might my power become absolute?" A flash of red entered and receded from Simia's eyes so quickly that Yori almost convinced herself that the anomaly had been a mere trick of the torches' efforts.

"The power is not yours, Simia." Yori thrust exaggerated emphasis into the name and laced it with verbal arsenic. This creature possessed of her sister's angelic countenance spurred within Yori a deep hatred unworthy of the meditative calm preached into her through Sensei's instructions. Yet she grasped the hatred, welcomed it, and plunged it deep into her core, where it fueled the embers within her to create an emboldening wildfire.

"Not yet," Simia countered. "But it matters little. Kill her," she bid her forces with a casual flip of her hand. "A pity, Yori," she lamented as her armed and adamant monkeys advanced on the lone ninja. "I had truly hoped your misguided intentions could be brought around to serve in the benevolent reign of The One."

The costly mistakes of their previous battles with this youthful woman of uncanny skill instilled caution into the masked brawler monkeys. They held their formation intact, resolved to drive Yori back against the wall of the First Temple and slice her to pieces. Yori kept her place as though she took no notice of their deadly approach. Instead, she raised a single hand, half-hidden in the long sleeves of her cloak. "You forget," she chided Simia venomously, "There is another."

A pink missile shrouded in scarlet light rocketed from the shadows of Yori's sleeve and struck the lead monkey in his hairy face. The blow snapped his head back even as the missile divested itself of its contours and puddle across his face. Beneath the shapeless cold flames of red, a set of beady eyes and buck teeth floated within the small pink pond, kept separate by a bewhiskered nose that twitched with amusement. "Bwa-ha-ha-murr!" the tiny face cackled devilishly as its vessel clawed at the blob's edges, unable to breathe. One of the besieged monkey's brethren raised a fist and struck at the assailing blob, only to cold-cock who he sought to save. As quickly as his fist struck into the soft pink and smashed his cousin's fist, the shapeless foe pooled onto his fingers and incited him to panic.

Simia and Yori watched with respective expressions of disgust and triumph as Rufus made fools of the trained animal assassins. "You always did put too much faith in the spirits of old, Simia," Yori recalled. "This place is just a cave. Whatever power it holds comes from those within it. Don't expect any mercy from Toshimiru, or from me."

That superior smile on Simia's face descended into a fanged snarl as she donned her fists and leapt at Yori, who found herself hard-pressed to avoid the fervent blow. Yori bent backward and felt the velvet edges of Simia's roundhouse kick tickle her chin before she pushed off of the ground and hand-sprung away from the leg sweep that followed. "Mercy?" roared Simia. "I don't need mercy to defeat the likes of you. I am the superior fighter!"

Yori crouched at the end of her hand-spring and leapt forward, spearing Simia with her shoulder and driving the seasoned warrior to the ground. Her knee dove into Simia's stomach, driving out whatever snide boast the villainess would have delivered in a groaning rush. "Years ago, perhaps," said Yori with a smile. "But I have since become," and her smile grew as she ground her knee deeper, watching with guilty delight as Simia's face twisted with pain, "A bon-diggity fighter."

* * *

"You don't want to attack me, Ron," insisted Kim as she sidestepped a fist that crushed the corridor wall next to her ear. Strands of her ginger hair sunk into the stone with Ron's punch, then burned free as his burgundy radiance vaporized his hand free. "I'm not your enemy." 

Kim cartwheeled just in time to keep away from his foot as it shattered more of the wall a few feet from his now liberated fist. She could see the end of the tunnel a dozen yards from their battle, caked with snow and howling with a wind that blew across the opening. Above the deafening resonance, Kim heard the frustrated snarl of her enthralled friend as he scattered the stone debris created by his own hand in a zigzagging bull rush. He threw a lightning roundhouse which she ducked, and caught a knee to the face that drove stars into her eyes. Kim did her best to roll with the blow, but her dizziness made it tough to keep one step ahead of him.

Her arms raised on instinct in a cross block that caught his steely foot. The quick reaction ensured that her innards remained intact as the kick threw her into the opposite wall. Stone crumbled beneath her back, and her head slammed against the cold surface. Warmth trickled down the nape of her neck as she fell onto her hands and knees, squeezing her eyes shut against the sharp throbbing in her skull. 'Concussion?' part of her mind wondered while another, more addled part responded, 'Thank you, no, I couldn't eat another bite.'

"Okay," she amended, "Maybe you do want to attack me." Kim's head lolled back as a pair of hands snagged her uniform front and hauled her into the air. "I'm starting to get that impression." Red eyes boiled in her face, bathing Kim's battered features in hellish radiance. "But I know you're in there somewhere, Ron. You don't want to hurt me."

With a simple pivot, Ron threw Kim off of his shoulder and across the hall, slamming her back into the first wall of the corridor. Kim went limp to minimize the injury, but it still hurt like hell when she struck the wall, and again when she fell to the ground in a heap. Now her own vision swam with crimson, blinking in and out as her consciousness teetered on the edge.

Kim moaned as those gruff hands lifted her again to view that grim, freckled visage. "Right then," Kim slurred. "You do want to hurt me. I guess you're madder than I-"

Another toss like the first bounced Kim down the hall. She felt several ribs give under the impact as she slid toward the entrance. Wisps of snowy wind penetrated the cave's mouth, helping jolt her back to wakefulness in time to feel the earth tremble at Ron's approach. 'This is it,' her jostled brain bemoaned through waves of pain, 'This is how it ends. What a stupid way to die.'

"It's my own fault," Kim said, as much an observation to Ron as to her own mind. A pair of feet treaded lightly next to her face before Ron's fingers dug into her uniform and hauled her off of the icy stone floor. She dangled from the stretchy material like a fish on a line, helpless against his mystic strength and too dizzy to even try. His fist, wrapped in her shirt, dug into the bottom of her chin, forcing her face upward. Kim had to look down her nose to see his resolved face set with murderous purpose on her battered body. "I'm sorry, Ron. I know you're mad." His fist pulled back, shimmering with mystic red-orange power Kim couldn't begin to understand. She saw Ron's fist twitch. Knowing full well that the blow would shatter her head, she squeezed her eyes shut and blurted out, "But I know you don't want to kill me!"

A bated breath hung in Kim's lungs as she hid behind the inside of her eyelids, twisting in Ron's grasp. The wintry breeze nipped at her exposed flesh, but Death's icy clutches never tore into her tenuous body to reap her soul. Morbid curiosity pried one of her eyelids open at length, where a frozen Ron awaited the shaken emerald orb. Only his cocked fist trembled as her other eye flew open to join the first in shocked staring. The hatred on his face remained, but seemed to be at war with another foe from somewhere within.

Kim knew she wasn't even close to out of danger yet, and so she held in her relieved sigh. "That's right," she assured him. "You've got the power. I know you could tear into me like a grande nacho platter, but you won't." Her toes still swung in empty air as he lowered his other fist. The hellish light surrounding him abated, but Kim knew it could return at any moment. Even if she could run, she wouldn't. Ron needed her. "I know you won't, because I believe in you, Ron."

The floor returned to her feet as Ron's arm lowered little by little. His expression did not soften, but his lips did split open, forming in silence the beginnings of two familiar letters that dazzled Kim's heart. "That's right," she encouraged him. "You've been saving me since the moment we met. You're a hero, Ron, born and bred. I should have known that when you brought Yori on board. I didn't trust her. I…didn't trust you." The admission weighed Kim's eyes downward with heavy shame. "If we had worked together, none of this would have happened. But I had to be in the know for everything, as usual. I…I couldn't handle being kept out of the loop."

"Kkkkuuhh…P…P…P'heee…" The sound gurgled from the back of Ron's throat as he stared at his downcast victim. The light in his eyes flickered.

Hearing the struggle within him, Kim looked back into his wavering gaze. "It's up to you, Ron." She reached up slowly, seeing him shy away from her touch. The demonic glow in his eyes returned, and she watched his gentle fingers ball back into fists, so she shot forward and grasped the sides of his face. Burning hands crushed into her arms, drawing a wince out of her bit lip as Ron lifted her into the air once more. "I believe in you. I trust you." The grip tightened, turning her affectionate tone into a guttural hiss. "Do the right thing, Ron."

An unholy howl barreled out of Ron's mouth as he spun Kim through the air and slammed her back into the wall. His teeth trembled near the delicate flesh beneath her cringing face, aching to tear her throat out in a primal return to his base nature. The tentative glow around his body became a full-fledged inferno of raw power, chasing away the deepest shadows in the mountain cave. The red energy pressed into Kim, smothering her and threatening to crush her body at Ron's slightest whim.

Kim's gaze never wavered. The panic welling up in her subsided at once, replaced by an inner peace that she felt certain only the dead knew of. She didn't even try to escape from his uncannily powerful grip, though with a little effort she might have wriggled free of the impending death that awaited her there. Win or lose, Kim wouldn't abandon Ron when he needed her the most. "I need you, Ron. We all do. Be the hero I know you are, Ron. Save us."

The war on Ron's face ended as she pursed her lips, waiting. A tempest of red magic burst forth, and a howl tore from his throat and into Kim as Ron yanked his fist back and ended it.

* * *

Yori clutched her dislocated shoulder and glared at her opponent. "Are you ready to—" She gasped sharply, then finished, "—give up yet?" 

Troublesome blood from a cut on her forehead wiped away at the back of Simia's fist, clearing her eyes. She managed a sneer at the younger ninja, which tore at her split lip and twisted her purpling face in pain. "To the likes of you? I'd sooner die." She spat at the notion, coming up with more blood than saliva. It hurt just to talk, but she bore the pain with loathing for this childhood memory gone awry.

In the background, Simia heard the last of her forces retreat with a shriek from the wily, twisted mole rat and his unstable shapeshifting attacks. The pathetic display brought a smile to Yori's swollen lips, even though it came from her blind side and she couldn't see it through the puffy black eye ballooning in her socket. "If that is your wish, I will gladly oblige you."

Simia shuffled forward with a swift snap kick that Yori sidestepped. She caught the kick on her shoulder and jumped in, tipping Simia onto her back. A sharp crack resonated throughout Toshimiru's bare meditation chambers from the back of Simia's skull as it met with the charcoal stone. She didn't get the chance to so much as yelp at the pain, for the edge of a foot pressed into her throat, cutting her curse short and stopping her breath.

Glaring down, Yori regarded the twisted wretch beneath her heel. "You see," demanded the broken beauty. "Do you see what your mad ambitions have wrought? You were the greatest of us, Tsuruko. The GREATEST!" The pressure on Simia's throat increased, threatening to snap her neck then and there. "I looked up to you, Tsuruko. How could you? Was it really worth it?"

Simia's moans trailed off, and her eyes trembled shut with one last, choking gasp. The rage in Yori's voice became melancholy as she leaned down, pressing harder onto her beloved friend's throat. She could make no mistake, even if it would break her heart. "Was it really worth it," she asked the still, breathless form again in a softer tone.

Her quiet sadness ended abruptly in an agonized sob as blazing fingers clamped down on her ankle and pressed. The delicate bones creaked under pressure, unable to pull away from the red iron grip. Simia's eyes opened, no longer dark and deep, but instead the color of luminescent blood. "Yes," she hissed, and threw Yori high into the air with just a twitch of her wrist.

Only Yori's martial prowess saved her from the crushing, twenty-foot fall, though it didn't stop her wrist from jamming back into her arm in the landing. She yelped at the impact, trying to pull herself back to her hands and knees.

Simia rose without standing, pulled to her feet by the mystical force encompassing her body like Dracula rising from the dead. The cuts and bruises all about her body began vanishing in wisps of red-orange fire, restoring her haughty smile to its former perfection. "Well," she said, standing over her fallen sister, "It would appear that something did occur during our little, abortive transfer." She chuckled as her foot lashed out, punting Yori across the expansive chamber with a burst of ancient energy. "How about that?"

Yori's answer came in the form of a sharp cry as she crushed into the high stone walls and slid down. Her uniform back shredded against broken rock, opening new cuts and scrapes in her bruised skin. The sound of a wet burlap sack striking cement accompanied her return to the floor, followed quickly by another anguished sob. "Tsuruko…" she said, gagging on her own bile. "Stop this…"

"It must have taken time to bond with my system," remarked Simia. She stared at her hands as her silent footfalls carried her below the path Yori's flight had taken. The heatless flames danced between her fingers and shimmered in her eyes. Every last part of her body felt fit to burst with energy. Every ache, every pain, every last little aspect of mortality that humans took for granted, vanished in the wake of this rosy light. She felt better, stronger, more…There wasn't anything she couldn't do. "Yori, this is amazing," she whispered as she came to stand over the wounded ninja. "I wish I could describe it to you, but…there aren't words. There aren't feelings. It just…is."

A tiny snarl heralded Rufus' attack. He streaked along the floor at impossible speed, like a pink rocket chased by a red contrail, and leapt into the air. His jaws opened wide, ready to sink into Simia's arm for daring to attack his friend. The courageous rescue ended with a careless backhand from Simia that ricocheted Rufus into the wall, where he puddled and oozed back down to the floor.

"Stop this, Tsuruko," rumbled Yori, clutching at Simia's feet in a vain attempt at standing. She would have bit into her leg if she thought it would help. "You have to stop. That power isn't yours."

Simia shook her head, and loosed the clingy girl with a twitch of her leg. As Yori slammed back up against the wall, the villain continued, "Don't you see, Yo-chan? The power is split between two sources. It's torn…it needs to be made whole again, or it will tear both vessels apart."

Yori's breath came in ragged gasps, tearing at the air to try and regain her equilibrium. She watched Simia's glowing fist hover above her, ready to deliver a killing blow with supernatural ease. "You fool," Yori groaned, propping herself up on her one working arm. She would have liked to die on her feet, but there wasn't the time or the effort within her to make it happen. Instead, she would die a failure. "You've killed everyone with your selfishness."

"You won't be here to find out," Simia laughed. She pulled her fist back, smirking. "Goodbye, Yori."

Something slammed into the side of Simia's head with the force of a pile driver. The radiant ninja scudded across the First Temple and slammed into the far wall, vanishing in a cloud of black dust. There, in the chalky smog, Simia blinked back a wave of shock at the attack. She sat up and thrust her head out of the settling dust. "Who…?"

Simia's slave helped Yori to her feet with gentle hands, pointedly devoid of the paranormal light that should have haunted his eyes. A hated redhead stood by his side with arms folded defiantly across her chest. All three teens glared at Simia, as if daring her to come at them again. Stoppable gave her a most disobedient wave and a smile. "Hey there, boss. S'okay if I punch out early today?"

"You've escaped the thrall of the Idol." Simia's voice held none of her previous anger. The spell of the ancients flowing through her veins negated any need for such base emotions. Stoppable was no longer a threat, and would die as planned. And his redheaded whore? Oh, she simply begged for destruction most foul, and Simia would grant it while wearing a grin.

Kim smirked, unaware of the danger Simia had planned for her. "We had a Hallmark moment out in the hall."

"Mood music and everything," agreed Ron. "So, I think we need to have a talk. I've got the ball rolling. Care to add a rebuttal?"

The power surrounding Simia flared a moment, burning away the flotsam kicked loose by her landing. As she rose, a terrible laughter rang from the back of her throat, cutting through the unfounded confidence brought on by Ron's return. "You children," she chuckled. "You never cease to amaze me."

Ron pushed to the front of their trio, spreading his arms wide. Despite his bravado, a look of contempt pushed at his round, jovial features. "What," he challenged, "Just because you've got a little taste of the Ron Man, you think you're some Super Monkey now? As far as I'm concerned," he said with a scoff, "You're just a cheap copy. So bring it on, Xerox. You aren't the only one with powers here." The same cold fire lit on his fists as he slid his feet into a broad fighting stance, pivoting so that his profile settled in on Simia.

Simia's laughter continued as she raised her hand and grasped at the air. Far across the room, lodged in the wall, the Lotus Blade began to wriggle in its stony sheath. Clumps of rock sprayed everywhere as the wall suddenly spat the Blade up. It flew through the air and snapped obediently into her waiting grasp.

With an otherworldly pop, the Blade morphed into a katana gauntlet, a bladed glove of twisting metal that wrapped around her arm with a life of its own. Before the teens' shocked and disbelieving eyes, Simia called upon her new power, gathering it about her body. She broke free of gravity's shackles and kicked into the air, rising high above them. Her laughter morphed into a despicable cackle, taking amusement in their horror. She recalled her first encounter with Stoppable's power, and decided that he had put it best.

"Do you see the glowing, children?" she called down to them, drawing her gauntlet through the air. "The glowing means that you die."

**To Be Continued**

Big shout-out to Classic Cowboy for beta reading this one. He said the only part he didn't like was the cliffhanger. So far, that seems to be the consensus. :) Stay tuned, loyal readers.

Excelsior!


	13. The Chosen One

_All-Purpose Disclaimer_

Diet soda will not make you thinner.

* * *

**Kim Possible  
****The Power of Trust**

_by Cyberwraith9

* * *

_

"Well, Chosen One." Simia's voice echoed off the high, domed ceiling and reverberated among the three teenagers and their rodent friend. Halfway to the apex of the dome, Simia opened Her arms and pirouetted, riding the cascading red energy around Her body with preternatural grace. The Lotus Gauntlet's twin scythes cut a circle around Her, reshaped by Her will. "What do you think?"

Ron did his best to manage his fear. It wasn't easy, considering the super-powered foe floating above them wielding the most powerful weapon ever forged. His natural humor leapt to shield them from the horrors of the situation; "Holy crap," he groaned loudly, "She's gone super-saiyan."

"Ron," snapped Kim. "We need a game plan." She looked back at Yori, who slumped against the wall with noticeable effort to remain upright. Yori's chest rose and fell unsteadily, and her arm still hung at an unnatural angle. "Use your healing power on Yori," commanded Kim, "And we'll—"

A bolt of red struck Kim in the back, throwing her to her knees. The mystically-healed aches and pains returned in a violent surge as Simia's dark energies assaulted her inside and out. "Trifle not, children," Simia called down. Another bolt gathered in Her palm, burning like a small sun kept at bay by Her fingers. "I have a plan for all of you. Such is the way of the Monkey Master, is it not?"

An earthly comet leapt from Kim's side, composed mostly of Ron and fueled by as much ancient mysticism as he could muster before Simia let another attack fly. The two warriors collided in midair and created a blinding crimson flash. By the time Kim could see again, their battle had already resumed, returned to the ground.

Ron interposed himself between Simia and his friends. He kept his fists high and close to his face, bobbing his head behind them like a boxer. "Not happening, Super Tramp. Let's keep this a Chosen-only rumble, m'kay?" The lengthy blades on Her wrist kept him an extra stride back. Though now a gauntlet, the Blade could become any weapon, a longer weapon, at the speed of a thought.

"So be it," agreed Simia. "You still have half of my destiny within you. I need to collect it." Her gauntlet flashed, snapping Ron's head to the side with a powerful slice. Twin trenches erupted across his face, spilling blood in the wake of the blow and drawing from Ron a bitter, brief howl. When his glare returned to Simia, the bleeding welts rippled and sealed themselves, leaving only smears of red as evidence of their ever having been.

The battle raged on with Ron on the defensive as Kim knelt over their ailing friend. A cursory check of Yori's body didn't reveal any gushing wounds or organs playing peek-a-boo, which Kim took as a step in the right direction. "Yori, you have to get up." Kim pointedly ignored the frantic chattering of the naked mole rat on her shoulder. Some distance behind her, the curved wall of the Temple exploded with a Ron-sized impact. The anguished cries of her best friend's agony were harder to ignore, but Kim kept her mind steadfast on her former rival's face. "Yori," she said again, slapping at Yori's cheek with the gentility of a kindhearted drill sergeant.

Kim's voice endured the black void between Yori's mind and wakefulness, bringing her back into reality. Yori's dizzy eyes fluttered open, faced in an instant with the full force of Kim's unceasing insistence. "Kimberly-san," she garbled through swollen lips. A pair of hands grasped at her eyelid and forced it fully open. Yori had neither the energy nor the sense to resist.

"I don't think you have a concussion," stated Kim with hesitant optimism. And even if Yori's brains had been spilling out of her head, Kim would have said whatever it took to get her back on her feet. The Eleventh Hour had reared its ugly head, and they needed everything and anything they could muster to throw at Simia. "Yori," she said, "How do we stop this?"

"Stop…"

"Yes," she snapped. Another burst of shattering rock overshadowed her voice, forcing her to repeat herself. She grasped Yori by the shoulders, and then pulled back as Yori hissed and twisted to favor her dislocated limb. "Yori! How do we stop her from killing Ron?"

Yori simmered in her pain a moment more, listening to Ron's agony in the background as Simia beat the life from him with slow, tranquil precision. Her clouded eyes drew strength from the bright green storm raging in Kim's face, and sparked a tempest of her very own. "My arm," Yori said, nodding at the useless limb. "Can you…"

Kim grasped the appendage with expert hands. A wordless look of warning passed between them, accepted by Yori with a bob of her head, before Kim twisted the limb back into place. Yori grimaced and growled, gritting her teeth, but her arm functioned once more. "Thank you," she gasped, working the sleepy numbness from her limb.

"Any ideas?" asked Kim as she helped Yori to her feet.

A streak of black shattered the cave wall next to the pair, bowling them into the air amidst a cloud of unforgiving stone shards. Dozens of new cuts laid into the teens as they rolled to the ground in time to feel it tremble with the lifeless impact of a wet sack of meat wrapped in black. Pebbles scattered as Ron's limbs dropped after his body, torn and bleeding like the rest of him, but thankfully still attached. His forehead ran slick with blood that pooled in his struggling eyes. Still more of the stuff cracked as it dried over his freckles.

"Ron!" Yori plowed into her fiancé him, pressing her cheek into a pool of blood on his chest to listen for a heartbeat. His torso heaved with a raspy breath at her touch. "My precious Ron-kun," she moaned, rising and cupping his swollen face in her hands. Then her weeping eyes swiveled up, drawing upon some secret store of hatred deep inside the serene young woman. "You monster," she screamed.

The new Chosen glided down, safe inside Her cocoon of scarlet magic. She hovered a few inches from the ground, refusing to sully Herself with the prison of the mortal coil and favored instead the realm of gods. "I offered paradise," Simia retorted with infinite calm, no longer the raving wretch of a few moments ago, "And you slapped it away. It grieves me to take such drastic measures, but can't you see? None may stand in the way of the True Order, be they a champion, a vessel of my power, or even," She reflected sadly, "Those I once stood beside. Now, all I can offer is the mercy of a quick death. For this, I am truly sorry."

Ron sat up with considerable help from Yori. Kim wanted to reach out to help him, to hold him, but she saw a scene with no more room for anything of the sort. She watched Ron lean into Yori's embrace as they glared together up at the dark goddess. "You don't know what mercy is, Simia," Kim called. Like Simia, Kim had no malice left in her voice. She matched the radiant calm of her enemy and strode out, placing herself between the lovers and their nemesis. "This isn't about mercy or destiny. You just—"

Kim's dramatic monologue (hastily crafted under duress, but nevertheless brilliant) descended into a fit of agonized screams when red lightning cascaded from Simia's gauntlet and drove itself into a thousand points all over her body. The force lifted her into the air and back against the wall, jerking her limbs as though she were a puppet on a string. "The trifling of an ant means nothing to me," Simia stated, dragging Kim up to equal Her height with arcing red wires. The power continued to flay Kim's soul, but the inhuman howls torn free followed the same unnoticed path as Kim's impassioned speech had through Simia's ears.

A rocket's red glare streaked from the floor and into Simia's stomach, silencing Her onslaught. She reeled back, surprised rather than hurt, as a pair of snarling buck teeth clamped into Her midsection. The impact drove Simia higher as She heard Rufus snarl and tear at Her nigh-invulnerable flesh. Rufus abandoned that fruitless quest and instead scampered up Her bust line. Standing upon fertile mountains of flesh, he put his tiny claws up and boxed Her chin, growing and squeaking with the ferocity of a rat ten times his size.

Simia plucked him from Her chest and examined him a moment. The oozy mole rat dangled from a pseudopod of flesh caught between Her fingers. "A rodent with the Sacred Power is a blasphemy I cannot forgive," decreed She. Simia tossed him into the air with a flick of Her wrist and severed his flailing body with one swift stroke of Her Lotus Gauntlet. Rufus' final shriek resonated all throughout the first temple as two distinct globs the color of bubble gum splattered onto the floor.

"Rufus!" Kim screamed, ignoring the choking smoke that still drifted from her smoldering uniform. Every moment brought with it a new world of agony which she could hardly feel as she sprinted across the floor, too late to catch the remains of one of her dearest, most loyal friends. Her knees skittered on rocks knocked free in the titanic battle where she fell before the discolored smears staining Toshimiru's sanctuary.

That last, terrified screech still rang in Kim's ears, drowning out whatever sanctimonious claptrap spewing out of Simia's mouth. But no force in Heaven, Hell, or anywhere between could have made Kim miss the unholy, baleful howl erupting behind her. The entire cavern shook with Ron's sorrow as he burst into a being of pure luminescence with such force that Yori could no longer hold her beloved in her arms. "RUFUS!"

Simia squinted against the light that blinded Kim and Yori. "Really, Stoppable," She scoffed, "I didn't think you had it—"

The next thing Simia knew was the cold blast of stone breaking beneath Her spine and the tortured roar of the mountain as She cut a new scar into its belly. By the time Simia willed Herself to a stop, Her attacker had already started in hot pursuit. The cold flames surrounding his body faded enough to reveal the hardened lines and bleeding flesh of Ron Stoppable. Tattered clothing, dizzying blood loss, and tears that blurred his eyes could not dissuade him from his target. Speed greater than Simia had ever seen carried his fist across the Temple and into Her stomach. It was only Her own unnatural quickness that saved Her from a third blow, which widened the open wound in the Temple's ceiling with a terrific crack.

Simia took up position opposite Her now-airborne teen with a fresh smile painted on Her face. "So," She said, "He finally awakens. Too little, too late, gaijin. I—"

"Lotus Blade."

For a second, Simia wondered if Stoppable had simply wished aloud. Only when the gauntlet tore free from Her arm did She realize his true aim, too slow to stop him as his waiting hand clasped around the weapon. The Lotus Blade popped in his grasp, returning to its wizen katana origins at his silent behest.

Ron glared Simia down and traced an invisible line between the two with his Blade. "No more," he growled.

A serene snicker answered Ron's wordless challenge. "You, face me? Are you joking?"

The flash and pop of Ron's transforming weapon never registered with Simia before he brought a Lotus Bludgeon upside Her head. A metallic ringing followed in Her ears as the blow buried Her head in the ceiling. Large pieces of the Temple's dimpled dome bounced off Her shoulders. Still more broke free when Her hands slapped against the stone to push Herself free. The second time around, Simia actually saw his attack, a spiked Lotus Flail that smashed into Her shoulder and gobbled up Her altitude.

"Did that sound like a joke?" Ron dove after Her, willing his weapon into a Lotus Axe as he followed the stinging bite of his snarl. A blast of red lightning shot from Simia's palm, but too slow to get past the Lotus Shield he conjured to deflect it.

A thunderstorm raged unnoticed above Kim as she knelt over her fallen friend. Unfettered tears trickled from her eyes and fell into the pink glop she gathered into her cupped palms. Shapely shadow slithered over her shoulder and onto the floor, and a comforting hand settled atop her arm. But Kim paid Yori no mind, even when her ally's tears soaked into her sleeve. She just stared into the puddle that trembled in her hands. "Oh, Rufus," she moaned.

Quivering at the proximity, the two halves poured into one another with a ravenous need. Kim yelped and jerked away, letting the jiggling mass fall to the floor with a _blorch_. Twisting, writhing, the mass soon quieted and solidified itself into four stubby limbs protruding from a tiny, torpedo-shaped body. "Mmmwhhoaaah," Rufus groaned once his face resurfaced.

Kim scooped the befuddled rodent into her hands and nuzzled him to her face. "Rufus!" she squealed. Tired though he must have been after reconquering his shape, Rufus rippled against her bloodied skin and purred. "You disgusting little pink booger," she sobbed joyously, "Don't you ever scare me like that."

The touching moment couldn't survive the crater created when Simia power-bombed her hated opposite deep into the floor. "Now may not be the best time for a reunion," Yori called, maintaining her footing with some difficulty. Her next words lost their way in the explosive blast that sent Simia flying backwards from the ground. Yori swallowed her final sentence at the sight of her bloodied, befreckled beloved soaring into the air inside a ball of hellish flames. The awe within her crumbled into horror as she watched his face twist with unnatural hate.

Rufus' weak protests went unanswered as Kim tucked his unstable form into a pouch on her waist. The reddened reflection of the battle in her eyes shared Yori's amazement and matched her despondence. The back of her hand wiped clean the tears that still clung to her face. "You're the expert," she reminded Yori needlessly. "How do we beat Simia?"

In contemplating the answer, Yori stared up into the titanic struggle above. At an awestruck glance, Ron's vicious attack with his shifting weapon guaranteed his victory when compared to Simia's harried defense. But each blow Ron delivered with a corresponding howl grew weaker than the last, whereas Simia's serene smile stayed solid, never slipping as She parried each strike. "Ron-kun cannot prevail alone," said Yori. The teen in question smashed Simia into a wall with his Lotus Mallet, apparently trying to convince Yori otherwise, but her confidence in the assessment remained resolute.

"What does that mean?" Kim insisted. "What should we do?"

Long, thin metal shafts snapped into Yori's grip. They snapped open, revealing the razor edges of gleaming metal fans. Yori lowered herself into a weary stance and raised her weapons, masking her form inside the deadly, exotic weapons. Luminous eyes narrowed at Kim over the rim of her war fans as she said, "It means we fight to the death alongside our beloved. No one can ask more of us."

Kim blinked, staring blankly at Yori as the Chosen battle shook their mountain to its core and swept her hair back with dramatic effect. "That's it? Dying? That's your big plan?" Flecks of stone rained down on her furious scowl.

"It will be our final honor," insisted Yori, "To die in defense of our Monkey Master and our world. We have no ancient power of our own, but…" Her war fans sliced through the air, and she glared at the abomination that possessed the stolen powers of their savior. "I will not go silently."

Such a ludicrous plan hadn't crossed Kim's ears since she let Ron plan their sneak attack on Drakken's mountaintop fortress (And she still couldn't figure out why Drakken had bought it. Honestly, a pizza delivery boy at sixty thousand feet above sea level?). Still, she wasn't brimming with plans of her own. The fight above, pulled from the pages of some Dragonsphere Q episode, exceeded their league by eight or nine thousand levels. Energy blasts, magic weapons, flying kicks that really flew… She and Yori wouldn't last two seconds in a full frontal assault. If only they had some magic of their own, something that could stand up to Simia's…

The idea struck her as soundly as any punch would have. Kim glanced up at the raging battle, then down to the center of the chamber. There, encompassed by a circle of scattered candles, lay the answer to all of their problems. "Let's save dying for Plan B," Kim suggested. "I've got another idea. We're almost as likely to die, in case you had your heart set on that." By this time, Ron's growing fatigue was obvious even to Kim, so she laid out her plan to Yori in a few terse words.

This time, Yori blinked at Kim. "That's as foolhardy and slapdash a plan as I've ever heard."

"It seems like that now," Kim said distractedly, already hard at work solidifying the rest of her plan in her mind. Concentration didn't come easy to her when the floor continued to shake with the terrible struggle overhead. "Afterward, it'll seem brilliant. I promise."

A tiny smile cracked Yori's fierce face. "Then we'd best hurry."

Kim nodded toward the broken circle of candles. "You know what to do. I'll tell Ron."

Yori had already gone, moving like a shadow across the shaking floor and leaving Kim to her demanding task. Gazing back up, Kim waited, watching, ready to choose her moment. Though comparatively sluggish to his fury a moment before, his punches and kicks still moved like lightning and cracked thunderously against Simia's impenetrable guard. Simia still wasn't impressed by the display. Rather, She laughed as he drained himself in his pathetic rage. Lotus Blades, Knives, Staves, and Bludgeons rolled like raindrops from her arms, each blow infinitesimally lighter than its predecessor.

Finally, the moment came, as Ron pulled back to drive a Lotus Spear into Simia's stomach. "Ron," Kim called up between cupped hands, "Rufus is alive!"

The words snapped Ron out of his trance. He shot a glance over at Kim with a familiar, "Huh?"

Kim winced sympathetically as her distraction had its desired effect; Simia leapt in and backhanded Ron straight into the ground, where he stopped several inches lower than the floor. The impact threw Kim onto the dusty, cracking black floor, but she rolled back onto her feet in a heartbeat and set out for Ron's crater in a dead run. Luckily for Kim, Simia seemed content to float there, as if daring Ron to rise again to challenge Her. "Ron!" cried Kim, reaching the crater's edge and skidding down to its middle.

Laying face up at the epicenter of his crater, Ron raised his head and tried to cut through the daze that vied for control of his head. He still bled from dozens of shallow cuts, as well as several that sparked serious concern in Kim, and his red-orange aura had faded to a mere fizzle of flickering light. "Rufus…" he moaned. "Rufus, buddy…"

"He's okay, Ron." Kim reassured him as she knelt down, taking his head into her hands. She forced his gaze into hers, trembling at the glimmer of scarlet that danced still in his chestnut eyes. "Ron, I need you to run a Number One Classic."

"Nuh…Number One." He stumbled around the words. Blood slicked his lips, making it difficult.

"A Number One Classic," Kim said again. If Ron had a head injury, or couldn't get back up, they were sunk. Come to think of it, Kim realized that any one of a thousand little things could spoil her plan. "This is important," she pleaded. "We need you, Ron. Can you do it?"

Simia's haunting laughter floated from on high, blasting the fog out of Ron's mind with hurricane force. "You want to flip the positions?" asked Ron.

A shake of her head widened Ron's eyes. "No. Nothing fancy, just like always," Kim said.

"Kim!" Ron grabbed her shoulders and lifted her as he stood, bearing her weight with no effort. "Are you loco? She'll crush you."

Warm hands brushed away his strong, gentle embrace as she smiled a sad smile. Ron saw something that words could not describe calling to him from deep within her green eyes, something that went beyond thought, beyond emotion. Ron knew it meant something important, something that could fill volumes, and because of this, he didn't question his inability to understand it. Instead, he felt aghast as she said, "Then that's the way it is."

"Come, Stoppable," called Simia, unseen from Kim and Ron's tiny world, "Finish with your cow and come die like a man."

Kim touched Ron's bloodied face. "Are you with me?" she asked him with a quiet smile.

"Always," answered Ron without a thought. The two parted as Ron summoned the remainder of his strength into a fiery aura that consumed his outline. "Good luck," Ron called, and added after, "KP." And wasting no more time, Ron took to the air to do what he did best.

Her lips bit back a startled gasp as Kim watched her best friend break from the earth. Beneath the layers of boiling flames, she caught sight of a wink meant to bolster her spirits. It failed. Kim rested her hand upon the hilt at her waist and resolved herself to do the impossible; she would bide her time while Ron needed her, until the time came for her part in the madcap scheme.

A quiver worked its way down Ron's spine as he floated up to match Simia's height. He felt the Lotus Blade pulse reassuringly in his hand, but could take no comfort in possessing it. This fight wouldn't be decided by magical baubles. 'This is gonna hurt,' he lamented in his thoughts as he mustered his bravado.

"So, he comes at last," announced the new Chosen, offering outstretched arms as if presenting him to an unseen crowd. The murky room offered no applause as Ron bobbed in place across from Her. "Are you finally ready to yield, Stoppable?"

Ron's responding smirk held none of the fear Simia knew it should have. "Y'know, I've heard this song and dance before." He sighed. "Monkey Fist, Gorilla Fist…you wannabes are all the same. Yak and attack," he said, and shuffled his hands back and forth to illustrate, "Yak and attack. But by the end of the day, they're being hauled off in a patrol car, and I make it home in time for Letterman."

The humor in Simia's tone ran dry. "You live only because I have willed it so."

The Lotus Blade spun in a slow, lazy circle around Ron as he mimicked Simia's words while flapping his hand. "You live bnyah nyah nyeh nyah…" He laughed, and planted his hands on his hips. "You keep sayin' you're gonna kill me. Well?" Ron tapped his wrist smartly where his watch would have sat. "Tick tock, Monkey Girl. Time is money in the world domination biz."

Simia snarled, "You will pay for your insolence," and surged forward. She coiled her body and lashed out with a spinning hook kick capable of crushing concrete that just grazed the wispy edges of his ducking blond hair. She dove after to follow him, letting fly a powerful punch. Her glowing knuckles plunged into a pillowy, rubbery surface, pulling from the object a long, stuttering facsimile of a cheap biological laugh.

Ron smiled at Her from behind his blocking hand. He held Her fist at bay with trembling, whitened fingers. Their hands remained separate thanks to a sputtering, deflated Lotus Whoopee Cushion. As Simia pulled back in disgust, a grinning monkey face greeted Her within the wrinkled folds of his sacred, mystical gag. "Excuse you," Ron quipped.

"You dare?" roared She.

The bouncy red orb of a Lotus Paddleball bopped Her in the forehead as answer. "I do," he snickered. The scarlet in Her cheeks spread to encompass the rest of Her face before Her power flared back to life, drowning the color out in a sea of hateful red.

Good, but not quite enough. Time to take it up a notch.

"I dunno," he shrugged, "Maybe it's something else. I mean, it's kind of hard to take you seriously with those water balloons stuffed down the front of your-"

A hurricane gale focused into a single fist crushed Ron's stomach, folding him in twain and giving Simia an irresistible shot at the back of his neck. Her elbow jackhammered him down at Mach speeds, where he met the ground with explosive force. Stars danced in his eyes and rang in his ears to a haunting choir of angels beckoning him to a great beyond. But the only light hat the end of his tunnel vision as he looked up from his craterous grave was a growing ball of crimson fire engulfing the sky.

"Is that all?" Ron couldn't actually tell where Simia was. His brain rattled around inside his head, unable to process much aside from the pain flooding in from every other part of his body. Still, he knew his job, and wasn't going to quit now. "I've had harder love taps from Rufus."

Simia's foot cut through the nebulous blur of his vision and cracked him in the face. The blow snapped Ron's head back into the ground, where only his remaining mystic power saved him. Steely fingers gripped the matted, bloodied blond nest at the back of his head and hauled his face out of the stone. Simia rolled Ron over unceremoniously, letting the child flop onto the ground. What little dignity he had left pooled around his body in a growing, inky puddle. She drove Her fist into his body again and again, watching with satisfaction as his half of the power faded with each punch.

"What are you, Stoppable?" demanded Simia as She beat the life out of him. "You are nothing. Sidekick to an insect. White trash. Why the ancients chose you, I will never understand." Heaving, boiling, Simia reached down and grasped the torn clothes of the misshapen lump of flesh at Her feet and hauled it to Her face. Reddening brown eyes peered out from swollen lids, trying their best to focus on Her. "You are pathetic. You are useless."

A low, gargled chuckle worked its way out of Ron's split lips. Recovery from his injuries, magical or otherwise, now moved at a snail's pace. His magic had reached its limits, but he still laughed in Simia's face. "Actually," he crowed, "I make a pretty choice distraction."

An avenging spirit with a mane of fire rose up from behind Ron, bellowing a shrill cry of war that put even Simia on guard. She looked up, exposing the supple flesh of Her throat for Kim Possible's flashing katana to tear into. Skin and sinew sprayed from the blade's tip as Kim sliced, landing with her feet at either side of Ron's head. The shock to Simia's system paralyzed Her and rolled Her off of Her prey.

"Booyah," snapped Kim, raising her sword to split Simia's head.

Simia's hand caught Kim's wrist, grinding the bones together and eliciting a yelp from Kim as She lifted the teen into the air. Kim couldn't fathom the speed of Simia's recovery. Even now, the torn, bleeding flesh of Her throat finished knitting itself. The hair plastered in Kim's eyes could not dull the rage she saw in Simia's face. "This ends," Simia growled to the squirming girl in her grasp.

A grimace warped Kim's bitter features. "Sounds great to me," she grunted. She offered Simia no fear as the new Chosen drew back a glowing knife formed from Her fingers to plunge between Kim's pretty eyes. It seemed that Kim's plan had at least one unexpected hitch. 'So I have to die to save the world?' Icy flames bit at Kim's crushed wrist, chilling her final moments. 'No big.'

Simia's scowl vanished behind the glossy lines of a cartoonish red boxing glove propelled by accordion wooden slats. Her head snapped back, breaking Her focus and releasing Kim in one fell bop. Landing in a crouch, Kim followed the fist of the Lotus Extendo-Boxing Glove back to Ron's trembling hands. "Step off," said Ron. His weapon became a Lotus Staff, which he used to return to his feet. With a shaky voice, he called, "Let's keep this a Chosen-only, rumble, m'kay?" The way he leaned on his Staff sapped the credence of his repeated boast, but his eyes still shone with unhampered ferocity.

Scarlet power blasted Kim well away from their final battlefield. With any luck, the brat would break her neck in the fall and save Simia the trouble. "You miserable children," She spat, stalking over to him. A swift kick unseated his Staff, dropping him into Her waiting hands. His blood poured freely as Her crushing grip punctured his skin and tore flesh and muscle. Ron didn't even have energy enough to cry out. His head lolled, hanging like a great grape Simia ached to pluck and squash. "You don't understand. I have the will. I have the destiny. I have the power!"

"Hey, Simia!"

Kim Possible's call tore Simia's eyes away from her despicable precursor and to the wreck of a hero across the Temple. Kim rested in Yori's supportive arm, where she had been caught in her flight. In truth, Simia had forgotten all about the young ninja, who now wore a puzzling look of triumph. The puzzle solved itself when Yori lifted her free hand above her head, displaying her contribution to Kim's plan and sending an alarmed jolt up Simia's spine. The scowling glare of Simia's idol doled out reproach in stony silence, clutching its jade egg and clucking an unheard tongue at Her failure.

The dulled katana, still slick with Simia's blood, rose to meet Yori's find. Kim sneered at Simia with reddened teeth, watching the goddess' fear blossom with unpleasant, uncharacteristic satisfaction. "I have your blood," she shot, and wiped her blade against the statuette. The red ooze rippled against the gray stone before being sucked beneath its surface, where it sparked fresh illumination in the monkey's red eyes.

"No!" Simia called upon all Her might to strike the teens down. A wall of pure force struck Her from within, deadening Her limbs and snuffing the unnatural electricity arcing between Her fingers. Burning ice froze Her body, refusing Her commands and supplanting them with numb emptiness.

Yori grasped the Idol and aimed it at Simia like some ancient remote control. "Hold. Still." She watched Simia fall to her knees, yowling bloody murder as She fought the mystic control. "Ron-san, catch!" Yori hurled the Idol like a football, praying that her aim remained true.

Bleeding, broken, Ron caught the Idol against his chest, stumbling with the blow. The Lotus Blade assumed its true form at a dizzy thought. "Say 'ah.'"

Simia screamed as Ron plunged the Lotus Blade into her stomach. "No," She sobbed, still unable to move. "Don't take it from me!" But Ron ignored Her pleas, and Her power drained away in shuddering surges, leaving behind the coldest, emptiest void she could ever imagine. Simia's senses dulled, her muscles sagged, as everything that ever mattered to her slipped away through the gaping wound sheathing Ron's Blade.

Kim and Yori hobbled across the battlefield as Ron pulled the Blade from her stomach and wiped it clean on his tattered uniform. Warm blood puddle on his feet as Simia tilted forward, resting her forehead against his kneecap. Surrounded by her enemies and moments from the end, Simia should have done something to balance their accounts: a final curse, a wad of bloodied spittle, one last, desperate attack. Anything. But she could only lean against her hated rival and feel her miserable life drain away.

"All that I might do," she moaned. Blackness nipped at the edges of her blurry vision, and ice poured through her body. "Everything I had planned…My reign of benevolence…"

Warmth enveloped her wound, chasing the inky cold from her body. She drew a sharp breath and looked up, gazing into Ron Stoppable's eyes as she felt a pure and wonderful spirit touch her soul. His eyes shone with a different radiance, a heartfelt glow that backlit the flecks of amber in His chestnut eyes as they stared back into hers. He knelt beside her, pressing one hand into her stomach, while His other cradled her head. The power she coveted so highly knitted the edges of her wound shut, leaving behind only healthy bronzed skin that tingled with a feeling that transcended peace.

Kim gasped at the sight of the golden aura surrounding her friend. She would have stumbled if not for Yori, who bore Kim's good arm on her shoulder to help her along. Right before her eyes, the boy whose head she had once dislodged from the monkey bars on the playground became a bright being of immeasurable power. "Ron…" she murmured.

Ron smiled at Simia, helping her to her feet. A curious reverberation followed his voice, autonomous from any echo spat back by the cavern. "It's not about power or control," He told her. He dried her tears with a featherlight stroke of his thumb, cutting through the charcoal smeared on her face. "Nobody serves me. It's the other way around."

Simia's bottom lip trembled at the sight of this luminous being and His kindness. She tried to fall to her knees, to bow in the presence of the Power, but he would not let her. The tears would not stop, and the emptiness in her ached fiercely, a scar no power could wipe away, but something long dead in Simia awakened in His presence. His easy smile projected tranquility and peace, and his touch felt electric. "You…You are Him, aren't you?" she whispered.

"It's about people," He said. Looking back, He smiled at his two friends. Kim's jaw couldn't have dropped any lower without risking dislocation. Yori seemed ready to bow, just like her sister. "It's about helping them, no matter the cost. It…"

Ron stopped. The serenity on His face cracked as His voice came up short. He bent forward, clutching His stomach with a groan. But rather than flicker, His aura flared, growing brighter, brighter, almost blinding.

Concern overrode Kim's shock and pain. She detached herself from Yori and limped forward, reaching out. "Ron, what—"

Ron threw his head back and roared as His golden aura detonated, blowing the trio of ladies back. He clutched at His head, bellowing, wailing, as He became the epicenter of a saffron hurricane that pounded throughout the Temple. A shaft of pure light engulfed Ron's shuddering body, leaving only his haunting sobs as evidence of his presence, and those became lost in the howl of his mystic storm.

Kim fell to the ground, shielding her face from the sandpaper winds which carried their fight's rocky flotsam at deadly speeds. "What's happening?" she yelled, trying to push her voice over the din. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," Yori shouted back from Kim's side, ducked and covered like Kim.

"It is the Power." Simia's voice slithered from behind them. Both girls looked back, where Simia still stood, unblinking, in the tempest. Wisps of golden power arced from the central column, tearing away at the walls of the cavern. "He was meant to come into it gradually. Combining his awakened half with the half I activated by force—"

"He's overloading." Kim gritted her teeth, but then yelped when a booming rumble shook the floor pressed against her chest. Unlike the quakes during the fight, this tremor did not cease, but grew instead with each tick of the second hand. "Now what?"

Yori risked a glance upward. Through the swirling dust and debris, she watched the creation of thick breaches in the mottled dome high above them. "The First Temple is collapsing," she called.

Kim didn't hesitate. Heedless of the storm, she began crawling on her belly into the heart of the tempest. Yori followed, but took one last look back. The torrential winds swept Simia's hair back and tore the tears from her cheeks as she stood inside her dying dreams. The young ninja spared no sadness for this lost warrior, but she would carry the regret she felt then for the rest of her life. Already, the burden weighed heavily in her stomach. "Wait, Kimberly-san."

Each inch of their advance fought the teens before allowing them forward. Each second dragged on for an eternity that brought them miniscule increments closer to the pillar of light. Massive slabs of stone rained down from the ceiling, pieces that could have crushed either one of them in a heartbeat. But neither of them slowed.

Terrible heat pounded into Kim's face as she reached the edge of the Power. She fought her way onto her toes, crouching low to the floor against the terrible winds. "We just…" Kim reached out and then pulled her hand back with a yelp as the light burned her fingertips. "Yow!"

"We do not have long!" Yori hollered. A boulder the size of a Buick cracked the floor ten feet from where they stood. "What do we—"

With an emboldening howl, Kim raised her arms and plunged headfirst into the shimmering column. The light rippled like water at her entrance, bobbing back to stillness while Yori watched on. Yori hissed at the heat pouring from her lover's body. Diving into it might mean a quicker death, but not much else.

"For you, Ron-kun," she murmured, and dove in after Kim.

The heat burned into every part of her for a single instant before she crashed into Kim's back. All around them, swirling eddies of ancient force twisted and billowed, obscuring the rest of the Temple with encompassing light. A terrified young man twitched at its center, eyes closed, body spazzing, unable to control his Power.

"Ron-kun!" cried Yori.

Kim shook her head. She beat Ron's chest to no effect. "He can't hear us. He's totally catatonic, or something."

Yori knew at once what must be done. "Stand aside," she commanded in a confident tone. The unexpected regality of her voice startled Kim out of the way, allowing Yori full access to Ron. She felt his forceful muscles jolt as she ran her hands across his chest and over his shoulders. The rocking cave floor, its collapsing domed ceiling, and the intense forces that tore its mountain apart from the interior all faded away as she looked into his face. "Hold onto me, beloved," she murmured, and kissed him with soulful passion.

The Power leapt into her body, overwhelming every sense she possessed and awakening those she never knew of for that one second. Past, present, and future collided in her mind as her body surged and snapped back. Yori gasped and fell onto the ground. A wail leapt from Ron's lips, and the tempest outside their column raged harder. The eddies around them surged and tripled, tearing into the floor at the light's edge. Whatever his problems, Yori had obviously made them worse.

Kim snarled, "That isn't how you get someone's attention in a fight!" Taking one step for momentum, she buried her foot in Ron's groin.

Ron doubled at the blow, his howl trailing off into a wide-eyed squeak. Clutching his wounded pride, he tilted and fell to the floor, totally immobile. The swirling light and wind around them died at once, leaving them at the mercy of the dying black cavern. Rubble rained from the ceiling. The floor split, widening into a chasm that began consuming Toshimiru's Temple at an alarming rate.

"Time to go!" Kim grunted and flipped Ron's deaden bulk over her shoulders in a fireman's carry. A massive wall of stone collapsed in front of her, forcing her to backpedal and circumnavigate through the cave. Her eyes struggled in the dim starlight funneled through the cave's tunnel entrance. Miraculously, none of the van-sized pieces of collapsing cave flattened her and her payload. A stone the size of a baseball did bounce off the top of her head, but she shook the blow off and kept stumbling forward. "Come on!"

The Temple's death throes rattled Yori to her core as she juked from side to side to avoid deadly, raining stalactite spears crushing into the floor. But her darting eyes couldn't spot an opening crack in the stone beneath her in time. Her nimble foot sank into the crevasse and twisted, forcing her ankle in a painful direction with a soggy snapping of bone. Yori's cry stopped Kim and turned the teen to the problem, but there wasn't time to go back. They had just seconds left to leave, and Yori wasn't going anywhere on her own."

Strong, gentle arms slid around Yori. She felt another body press against her side, and swiveled her head to see. Dark hair and luminous eyes shone in the pale light, filling her vision as a pair of soft lips pressed against her cheek. Something dropped into her arms, cradled by instinct though she couldn't see what it was. Before Yori could offer protest, Simia flipped her hard across the room with a hip through made perfect by decades of training. Yori flailed and bounced to a halt at Kim's feet. A quick shift of Ron's weight freed one of her arms, which then wrapped around Yori's waist and lifted her bodily.

"Tsuruko!" The image of her lost ninja faded into the black curtain of raining stone as Yori bounced away in Kim's grasp. The last she saw of the woman was a flash of her almond eyes before they vanished behind the collapsing ceiling. Powerless, Yori could only hold onto the things she had been given and offer silent thanks for the final gift of the woman once called Tsuruko, sometimes called Simia, and, despite her own words, always a sister to Yori.

Kim paid no mind to the mountain's agonized moans. Her broken wrist screamed at her with every bounce of Yori's body, and was summarily ignored. Her only goal ran through her head in a recursive loop; get out of the cave, get out of the cave, get out of the cave, get out of the cave. Her legs pumped, her lungs burned, her chest heaved her adrenaline surged, all through the deadly hail. Her body begged her to stop.

'Just make it to the tunnel,' her mind begged back.

They made it to the tunnel. Millions of tons of rock settled behind her with a deafening thunderclap and a blast of air that almost knocked Kim off her feet. She stumbled up the incline, listening to the tunnel ceiling crack and splintered above them. The entire shaft began to go the way of the Temple, pinching closed beneath tremendous pressure. Kim sprinted with her three hundred pound burden. Her body begged her to stop.

'Just to the opening,' pleaded her mind, 'Please.'

Swirling snow and starlight waited for her at the mouth of the tunnel. Summoning the last of her strength, Kim swung Yori up and over the top of the incline. The ninja skidded across the snow as Kim's body insisted, demanded, and declared that this was the end, that it had nothing left to give. Tapped out. Finito. That's all, folks.

Kim flat-out ignored her body. Her legs coiled and blasted her into the air, carrying her and Ron in an impossible leap through the closing jaws of the dying cave. One ultimate rumble escaped the clenched teeth of the Temple before it fell silent, never to speak again. Pebbles and boulders vomited from the collapsing tunnel, bombarding the teens with bruising bits in final retribution for their escape.

They lay in the snow a moment, unmoving, welcoming the numbing cold offered in the ground's swirling white blanket. Ron fell from Kim's shoulders in a heap, hardly stirring, his eyelids fluttering as he remained doubled over to best protect his damaged goods. The mystic chosen one became a brace for Kim to lean on as she favored her injuries and took long drags of frigid air.

Yori lifted her face from the snow to gaze upon her rescuer. To look at her, Yori could hardly believe that this eighteen year old marvel, a girl who couldn't have been ten pounds over a hundred when soaking wet, had somehow hauled them over a hundred yards with severe blood loss, twisted ankles, and a broken wrist that had borne Yori herself for the journey. 'She can do anything,' Ron's voice reminded her from the hazy depths of her memory. That phrase hadn't been anything but an empty boast until this moment. Now, it seemed wholly inadequate. "We are alive."

"So not the drama," moaned Kim as she touched gingerly at her swelling wrist. Dissatisfied with that, she moved on to Ron, taking quick check of his pulse. "Being alive is nothing. It's when you aren't that you have to start worrying." Despite everything that had happened to them, a tiny smirk entered her lips as she glanced back at Yori. Small though it was, the gesture shocked Yori, who found herself returning it. "We'd better find a way off this mountain, though, or we won't be alive for long.

Already, the nipping cold began sapping Yori's strength. "Agreed." She tried to stand, but felt a weight in her arms keeping her on the ground. Glancing down, she witnessed the other two survivors of the Temple's collapse, a legacy clutched tightly to her chest. The dull red eyes of the Idol gazed back up at her, glaring ineffectually at its chariot. The scratched silvery surface of the Lotus Blade lay across its jade egg, reflecting the spark of despair in Yori's eyes which the cold could not smother. Tossing aside years of ceremony, Yori grasped the forbidden Blade and pushed it into the snowy ground, using it like a crutch for her broken ankle.

Kim saw the Idol as she groaned her way to her feet, tugging at Ron's arm. "We've got a Blade, an Idol, and all members of Team Possible are accounted for. I think that's about as close to a victory as we're going to get." Ron returned to her weary shoulders, and she added, "So let's call it a day."

"Yes," Yori muttered to herself, taking one last look at Simia's sealed and sacred tomb. "We win…" The world would continue to turn, without the influence of any insane despots. Under the circumstances, she would allow herself no room for complaint. But there was something she had to say. "Kimberly-san," she called. The hero stopped and turned, wearing a questioning look at Yori's somber tenor. "That," Yori told her, "Was a brilliant plan."

Kim's smile, slicked with blood and missing a few teeth, shone brighter than the moonlight reflected off of the majestic mountains around them, bright enough to light their way and chase all doubt from Yori's mind. "Told you," she said with a hint of smug. "Hindsight."

**To Be Concluded

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**

I really busted my hump on this one, guys. I hope you enjoyed it. Just one more chapter to wrap up a few loose ends, and maybe make a couple more while I'm at it. It'll be out as soon as I can write it, I promise. Until then, faithful reader, stay tuned, because the best is definitely on its way!

Also, anyone who catches and identifiesmy Dragonsphere Q reference (and no, not the fact that it's an obvious reference to the Dragonball series) by the time the last chapter comes out will be honored by way of mention. It's pretty damn obscure, but I'll give you a hint; only longtime fans or someone quick on reading backlogs will get it.


	14. The End of a Friendship

See you, Space Cowboy.

* * *

**Kim Possible  
****The Power of Trust**

_by Cyberwraith9

* * *

_

_**Takata Tsuruko**_

_**Warrior, Daughter, Sister**_

Yori sat atop a rounded stone next to a frozen brook and gazed at the kanji etched into the smooth lines of an obsidian river stone. The tiny circle of volcanic rock tilted in her palm, monopolizing her focus. The numbing snow packed around her toes and the icy breeze billowing through her hair couldn't compete with her simplistic eulogy. She felt numb, but the sensation had nothing to do with the dead of winter forced upon her by the towering, mountainous leviathans of ice and stone boxing her in.

The setting lay not far from where Yamanouchi once stood and would one day stand again. Upon their return to the burning remains of the school, Kim and Yori had found a small army of ninjas, the returned survivors of Simia's massacre, combing over the ruins. Her former teachers and classmates had gone wild with delight at their arrival, and the news of their would-be slayer's defeat had forged a victorious cheer that still rang in Yori's ears.

She had smiled at the time, while they bound the three teenagers' wounds, but now the cheer sounded as hollow as she felt. In time, she would join her fellow ninjas in picking up the pieces of their shattered home. Much work lay before them before life could ever begin returning to its former sense of normalcy. But before she could bring herself to deal with the tragedy of the husk of her home, one last unpleasant task needed taking care of.

At last, she tore her eyes from the rock and stared into the gleaming, static sheen of the brook. Hundreds of memories lay beneath its glacial surface, and in the barren cherry trees around it put down to rest for the season, and in the rolling field behind her which waited patiently for spring to make it green once more. Emotions haunted each rock, each tree, each inch of the frozen brook she gazed upon. No corner of this childhood sanctuary remained safe from her memory.

Movement caught the corner of her eye and turned her head. There, further down the brook, several slicked stones breached the surface of the ice, which melted beneath a sudden rush of sunlight that ill suited December weather. Yori watched the brook begin to babble once more as the snow vanished, replaced with lush green grass. Fat pink blossoms budded and bloomed on the trees around her, urged on by the laughter of two spectral children frolicking on the other side of the tumbling water.

_"Bet you can't follow me, Yo-chan!"_ a graceful girl with gorgeous raven hair taunted. Tiptoeing on wooden sandals, she pranced across the trio of glossy rocks poking from the water's face, reaching the other side without misstep. She turned and bowed, then laughed merrily and performed a cartwheel for no other purpose than the joy of doing it.

Still stuck on the opposite bank, her shorter, gawkier friend trembled at the thought of crossing that terrifying brook. _"Wait, Tsu-chan,"_ she whined, _"I can't keep up!"_ With tentative hops, the littler ninja skittered from rock to rock, using the peer pressure of her friend's success to override her overwhelming anxiety. When she reached the last rock, her luck ran out, and her foot began sliding in the shallow waters of the brook. _"Ai!"_

A strong hand grasped at hers and yanked her onto the bank before the water could go past her toes. The little girl crashed into her companion's chest, where she received a warm, emboldening hug that chased all but a tiny sliver of her embarrassment away. _"Someone still needs to work on her balance,"_ the older girl murmured into the top of her head before favoring her little friend's dark crown with a light kiss.

The little one leaned into her companion and sighed, drinking in the scent of sandalwood as her pounding heart settled back down after her horrifying, abortive river-crossing. _"Someday,"_ she sighed wistfully, _"I'll be as great as you, Tsu-chan."_

_"Not a chance, little sister,"_ murmured her graceful friend into the thick waves of raven hair beneath her lips. _"You'll be even greater."_

"Yori?"

Ron's inquisitive tone banished the ghostly little girls with two syllables and returned the bitter winter blanket to her peaceful brook with a start. Yori turned toward the crunching footsteps behind her, spying Ron's hesitant approach from behind a naked tree. The expression on his face remained neutral, but Yori could sense beneath the turmoil and concern he couldn't hide. A man of many talents, Yori would always be thankful that deception didn't fall among the growing list of Ron's abilities. "Yes, Ron-san," she answered, granting him his unspoken request.

He walked with obvious discomfort, keeping his legs bowed as he shuffled toward her. Like her, Ron wore long charcoal robes that brushed against the cresting snow to keep the cold at bay. A black hood overshadowed the cleaned and bandaged cuts on his face, leaving his soulful eyes to shine in the light reflected from the endless white at their feet. "I hope I'm not interrupting," he said.

Yori shook her head. "I welcome the company," she admitted. Needing no more encouragement, Ron sidled up next to her on her rock, huddling next to her and resting a comforting arm across her shoulder which she leaned into, grateful for. Her eyes returned to the stone in her hand, which resumed its fidgeting. "I was just…thinking."

Kanji didn't come easily to Ron, but he recognized the name on Yori's rock, as well as the word 'sister.' The shadow hanging over Yori's spirit immediately shifted to encompass Ron's as well. "Oh." Awkward silence plagued them a moment as Ron struggled to find something to offer to her. Saying the right thing didn't come easily to him, either. "I…"

"You don't have to say anything." The blunt statement blurred into Ron, silencing him at once. Yori continued staring at her tribute as she leaned heavily into Ron's embrace. Her head bumped against his chin, and twin jets of steaming breath struck her scalp. "I know she was nothing more than a villain to you, Ron-san. But to me…"

"I guess it's tough," Ron said at last.

Yori wished that she could cry, but her deadened eyes could muster no more tears. There was too much tragedy to cry over. It overwhelmed her. "She caused so much pain," she murmured. "So much needless suffering. Yet if you knew her before…" Yori looked back to where the shadows of the past had frolicked just moments before. "I had never known another like her. She was the best of us. And if the best of us can be consumed by such pain and hate, what hope is there for the rest of us?"

Silence returned. This time it felt appropriate as the two teens stared down into Yori's tribute, searching for answers. The recollections Ron had of Yamanouchi's destruction would haunt him for the rest of his life. If not for a slip of Simia's tongue, he would have left Kim to die from injuries inflicted by his own hands. What little sleep he had found before the dawn offered only nightmares conjured from his own memories, nightmares in which those he had respected and trained with screamed as he tore the life from their bodies, sundered their cherished homes into rubble…

"I'm not going to pretend like I know the answer," Ron decided aloud after careful consideration. "But I do know one thing." He brushed his hood back to better look into Yori's face, and offered her a sad smile. "The last thing she did was to save you."

Yori shook her head. "One act cannot make her a hero."

"It doesn't," he agreed. The rumpled shoulder of his robes muffled her reply as he pressed himself into her, wrapping his arms around her slender body. Yori pressed her face into his welcoming warmth and squeezed her eyes shut and felt safer than she had in years. If only the moment could last forever… "But it means I can still do this," Ron whispered into her ear as he squeezed her tight. "I'll always be grateful for that."

Yori sighed when Ron released her. Her hand traced his jaw line with tenderness, taking care to avoid the larger, nastier cuts still present. That he hadn't healed himself yet struck Yori as strange, but she feared the answer, and thus did not ask. Instead, she sipped in his bottomless brown eyes, knowing full well what his intentions were. She could read it in his face as plainly as the prophecy that had foretold his coming. "Yamanouchi will be rebuilt without its Champion." With a sigh, she added, "I suppose I needn't ask why."

The question Ron had been preparing himself for rocked him as a statement. He blinked, wondering if she had picked up mind reading as a talent during his absence. "Is it that obvious?"

"You are an open book to me, Chosen One," she said with a gloomy smile. But then the smile faded, leaving only gloom behind. "She may never love you like I do, you know." Yori felt her innards twist at the lie, knowing full well what Kim felt for her beloved. It was a selfish ploy, and she knew this, but she could not, would not, give up without one last effort.

A sheepish, sorrowful smirk splayed across Ron's lips as he ruffled his own blond crow's nest. "You're right," he admitted. "She might never. But I know how I feel. It isn't much, but it's enough." When his eyes returned, they gave to Yori the deepest regret she had ever known. "I'm sorry."

What could she do, but forgive him? "It is all right," she told him, though they both knew it was not. "I wonder, though, if Yamanouchi will survive these dark times without you. Sensei will not live forever…"

Ron leaned in, bringing his nose to rest on hers. She reveled in the intimacy of his touch. A simple brush of his skin felt electric to her, making her wish he felt the same. "You love this place, don't you?"

Closing her eyes, Yori confessed, "This school means as much to me as she does to you, Ron-kun."

"Which is why," he said, pulling back to nod, "You'll make a much better Sensei than I ever would."

Yori started back as their positions reversed and she found herself to be the startled one. Ron's cruel joke played with a tender spot on her pride, one not even he was allowed to touch upon. But looking into his somber face, she realized that he wasn't joking. "Me? Sensei? I fear you are mistaken."

"I fear I am not," he countered. "I already talked it over with Sensei and got a thumbs-up. As soon as the last nail goes into the rebuild, you start learning how to run a school." Closing an eye, he squinted in monocular examination of her, as if considering how well the fit would be. "With a little hard work and a few cut corners, I bet you'll be ready in about…twenty, maybe thirty years." His face fell back into its eternal humor, stretching his freckles.

Sensei had approved? Yori could scarcely believe her ears. And yet… "Even with Sensei's approval, Ron-san," she lamented, "The Council of Governors will never allow a woman to assume their school's highest honor."

Ron didn't even seem to hear her as he reached within his robes, withdrawing a rumpled white envelope from an interior pocket. "Maybe," he admitted, "But I bet they wouldn't turn down the Monkey Master's first choice when she comes with a glowing letter of recommendation." A light touch closed her gaping jaw before he handed her the dog-earred envelope. "I just hope I spelled everything right."

A 'whuf' escaped his lungs before Yori clamped them shut with a bone-crunching hug, pressing her face into his neck. When she pulled back, his sudden gasp cut short with a forceful attack of her lips. His head lolled in a daze as she pulled back and exclaimed, "Oh, Ron-kun! You really are the Chosen!" Her embrace returned, this time more reserved. "You truly are amazing."

"Just your average, ordinary sidekick, looking out for his friends," he assured her.

Yori held him at arm's length and admonished him with a look. Humility was one thing, but that Ron actually believed such a ridiculous statement? It made her sick to think that things would continue that way between the two Americans. But she did not say any of this, and instead contented herself with asking, "How is Kimberly-san?"

This chased the diffidence from Ron's smile. Yori dropped her hand to make room for his growing grin while he answered, "She seemed all right when I left. But you might as well ask her yourself." Turning, Ron called to an empty tree sitting a few yards from their rock, "How are you, Kim? Aside from being crappy at spying, I mean."

The blushing face of Kim Possible rounded the tree trunk with a cross look. "Number one," she huffed, exposing herself now that her jig had been upped, "I am not spying. I just didn't want to intrude is all. And number two, I am so not crappy at spying." Her words were caustic, but the scowl on her face melted into a guilty smile as she approached the two. She raised a hand in greeting, exposing the bulky wrap. "And I'm fine, thank you," she added sincerely to Yori, offering a bow to the ninja which Yori returned as best she could from her seat. "I'm not, am I? Interrupting, I mean."

Yori cast one last look at her eulogy before tossing it into a cresting bank of snow that rode the motionless waters of the brook. Come the spring, it would fall into the bottom, where all memories belonged. "No," she assured the redhead. A wordless glance to Ron produced a helping shoulder for her to lean on as she stood. The dressing around her ankle may have ensured a proper recovery, but it did not make walking any easier. She could limp at best, and she did so toward Kim. "I was hoping to see you before you left, Kimberly-san. I wanted to offer you my thanks…for many things."

Kim laughed nervously, squirming at the nebulous praise. "It's no big," she scoffed. "Any time you need to be sucker punched…heh." The blush returned to her cheeks as she looked away, remembering the disgraceful blow atop the warehouse. In retrospect, Kim saw her dishonorable actions and felt disgusted with herself. Whatever trust issues she had accused Ron of having, she knew he wasn't the only one who had them. "Oh," she said, perking up. "I brought a visitor."

A tiny pink head poked out of Kim's robes, looking about until it found a familiar face framed with corn blond hair. "Ron!" Rufus squealed, leaping between the teens and into his best friend's waiting hands. The two boys shared a tender moment with a warm, laughing hug as Kim watched on, struck with a sudden sense of nostalgia that held a distressing anticipation within it. But Kim pushed that feeling aside a moment as she noticed a pair of almond eyes examining her critically from her side, and turned to face them with a quizzical tilt of her head.

Yori examined Kim's frame with naked scrutiny, touching her finger to her chin as she ended the inspection at Kim's eyes. "You are indeed a very worthy individual, Kimberly-san." Whatever meaning the phrase held passed over Kim's head, though she noted a startled reaction from Ron, and wished she would have the time to ask him what it meant. Those melancholy longings evaporated as she felt Yori place a hand to her cheek. Rosy lips pressed into its opposite, lingering a second too long to be friendly and reducing Kim's strong voice to stammering mush. Remaining close, Yori whispered a startling piece of advice into Kim's ear before pulling back to speak aloud. "I am glad to have finally met you. Perhaps," she added with hope in her eyes, "We may one day become friends."

"I…I'd like that," Kim admitted, touching her cheek in shock. The well-known chuckle from off to one side pulled her back into her purpose for being there. She cleared her throat and found her confident voice once more. "But actually, I just came down to see if Mister Magic here could do a number on my wrist before I left." Her swollen, wrapped joint hefted between the three teens, punishing Kim for the movement with a twinge of pain. "Bad enough I had to miss Christmas with the fam," she shrugged. "It'll be worse if I show up looking like this."

Laughter cut Kim's hopeful look down into confused disappointment. Both teens missed the discomforted look crossing Yori's features as Ron said, "KP, if I still had my mojo, d'you really think I'd be walking bowlegged?" His feet spread wider to bolster this, squeezing his left eye shut with a twitch at the change. "Believe me," he hissed, "I wouldn't mind some of that myself…"

"Wait…it's gone?" Kim's jaw dropped as Ron shrugged helplessly. All that trouble, all that drama, all that loss, and now his magic had just vanished? "That's…"

A stately voice from behind said, "The sudden acceleration of Stoppable-san's abilities triggered a withdrawal within him." Kim jumped at the voice, whirling with fists raised. The perpetrator stood almost a head shorter than her, and had a good six-decade head start on her. He stood with his arms folded inside an oversized red robe, with twinkling eyes that hid behind stately eyebrows like shrubbery. "In order to protect his life," the Sensei said, "The Power was forced to become dormant once more."

"Now that," Ron pointed out to an embarrassed Kim, "Is sneaking."

Kim bit back a retort, and instead bowed respectfully to the Headmaster of Yamanouchi. "I am honored to meet you…in person," she added with a smile. "And I'm glad to see you're all right."

Sensei returned Kim's bow, brushing his beard against the top of the snow with just a slight bend. "As am I, Miss Possible. I believe you forgot this." His hands parted from the interior of his sleeves, revealing a small statuette hidden within. As Kim's excited hands snatched it up, he added, "I believe the London Museum of Natural History will be very interested in examining this find."

"Thank you," Kim said gratefully. "I'm sure they'll be thrilled to get the Idol of Simor back."

"That is not the Idol of Simor." Sensei startled Kim a second time with the revelation. He gave the idol in her shivering hands another examination, already certain of his answer. "Yes," he nodded, "This is without question the Idol of G'dall."

Worry crossed the space between Kim and Ron as they looked at the unexpected find. "Do you think they'll notice?" Ron asked.

Kim considered it for a moment. One idol to save the world? She could live with that. "Honestly," she admitted, "I don't care. They lost a monkey idol, and they're getting a monkey idol. That's good enough for me." Her gaze lifted from the hideous stone monkey and back to the grinning visage of her best friend. "So, you…What does this mean? You're magic, but…not?"

He could only shrug again. "Wish I knew, KP. But Sensei says," and he cleared his throat, presenting a somber face that mimicked the old man's, "The lotus blossom will open between the hours of ten and nine, with basement bargains for all those in need."

"I never said that," noted Sensei as a chuckle escaped his prize student at Ron's side.

Kim tapped her foot. "Ron, those are Smarty Mart hours."

"Oh." Ron's grin grew as he exchanged glances and nods with Rufus. "Well, that's good, too."

The brief laughter from Kim sounded as hollow as any she had ever faked, and didn't last long. A lock of hair dislodged itself from the rest, and became Kim's primary focus as she averted her eyes from Ron's freckled face. She knew the words she wanted to say, and she even knew the words she would say instead, but neither set would come out. "I…guess all that's left is to say goodbye," she forced out, feeling her insides empty as the words left her and leave behind a vacuous space that tore at her heart.

"Take your time," Ron said, shattering her sadness into shards of confusion. "I've already said mine." His gaze flickered over to Yori, and the two shared a mutual sentiment of accepting regret. When Yori reached for his hand, he took it and offered it a squeeze, but the gesture didn't linger, and he stepped back to stand at Kim's flabbergasted side.

Kim blinked at his nonchalance. "I don't understand," she said. "I thought you were staying. I…I thought you two were…y'know." She didn't, but pretended to with vague innuendoes of her hands joining together.

Sensei cleared his throat, offering real wisdom where Ron's failed facsimile had fallen through. "Destiny is not a destination," he preached sagely. "It is a journey, something we must live up to. Stoppable-san's destiny will bring him back to Yamanouchi…"

"But for now," he said, beaming, "I think I know where I belong." His arm snaked around Kim's frame and dragged her into his side. The moment would have been sweet if his clumsy grasp hadn't enraged the multitude of injuries still present in the both of them, which forced them to part immediately with a yelp. "Heh," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "As long as that's okay with you, KP."

Kim found herself nodding, considering the familiar stranger in front of her with anything but acceptance. The transformation from what he had become just one day earlier seemed so sharp, so startling, that she couldn't bring herself to buy it. This goofy, joyful façade before her wasn't the butcher of Yamanouchi, or the ninja who had tracked her tracking Gregory Fiske, or even the sidekick she once knew. But for the moment, Kim just wanted to go home.

"I guess we should get going," she said. "If I can get ahold of Wade once we find a phone…" She cursed her luck for losing the Kimmunicator during her fight with Simia in the mountains, but there wasn't anything they could do about it now. "Well, I guess showing up late is better than nothing at all."

Once more, the venerable elder of the conversation cleared his throat, returning his hands to their opposing sleeves out of old habit. Though his leathery face did not so much as twitch, the omnipresent twinkle in his eye danced as it came to rest on Kim's worried face. "Forgive my presumption," he asked with a bow, "But I have taken the liberty of arranging transport for two Americans and one exotic animal for a direct flight to Upperton International Airport." At Kim's dropped jaw, he released the smile he had been withholding. "After all you have done for us, Miss Possible, I believe returning you to your family in time for Christmas is the least we can do."

"I…I appreciate it a lot, Master Sensei," Kim said, hastily remembering to bow, "But with all respect, unless you've booked me on a time machine, I'll never make it there in time. It's already morning here, and by the time we make it back to Middleton—"

"You will be in time to see it become morning again," Yori told her. "Or have you forgotten the fifteen hour difference occurring across such a distance?"

Kim couldn't recall a time when she had ever enjoyed being wrong so much. An irrepressible smile blossomed on her face, and she grasped Ron's arm to hug, ignoring the painful squeak from his chest as she pressed herself against one of his deeper cuts. "We're gonna make it for Christmas with the fam?" she squealed.

"It is," Sensei assured her with an enigmatic smile, "No big."

* * *

"Kimberly Anne Possible, don't you dare lift that!" Missus Possible swooped around the center island counter to pluck a platter of sliced turkey from her daughter's grasp. The browned bird dropped into Tim's hands as both he and his sister protested the change-up. "Not a word, you two. And you, little miss," she added with a waggled finger at Kim, "You're lucky I even let you out of bed." 

Kim huffed, loving every minute of the parental fussing, though she folded her arms and pouted, careful to keep her fresh cast (the result of a hospital trip made at her mother's insistence that had consumed her Christmas morning) from bumping anything. "So not the drama," she scoffed.

"Honestly," moaned her mother, "Why can't you be more like Ron?"

The boy in question sat at the kitchen table with his feet propped up, nursing a glass of eggnog. A separate glass of Rufus burbled near his elbow on the table, where the naked mole blob caught up on a week's worth of lost sleep. "That's right," he said, sighing with contentment. He urged on the fingers kneading his feet on the chair opposite his. "That's great."

Jim wrinkled his nose at the bare feet rotating in his lap. "Are you sure the doctor said to do _this_ three times a day?" Foot sweat clung to his hands, making him wonder if he'd ever be rid of the smell.

Ron's bullshit answer became lost in a smoky bang that released a plume of blackened nog smog through the crack beneath the door leading to the garage. The coughing cries of Mister Possible followed soon after. "Boys," he hacked, "Have you been 'adjusting' the mix ratio on my Nog Generator?"

The Possible twins shared a guilty look and a psychic moment before rushing through the garage's door. A cloud of burning yuletide beverage puffed in at their exit. In the confusion, Kim grabbed a bowl of mashed potatoes, looking to steal a taste, but her mother proved quicker again, yanking the buttery starches out from underneath her dipping finger.

Missus Possible began launching into Kim's full name again when a glinting at her daughter's neck caught her eye. "Goodness, Kim." A closer inspection revealed the curved, golden lines of a tiny heart hanging from a chain. The smooth symmetry of the heart broke only for a tiny hinge at one side, which squeaked as the elder Possible's fingernail pried the heart open to reveal a beautiful memory that brought tears to her eyes. "Oh, my," she breathed, "It's beautiful."

"Yeah," said Kim, averting her gaze. "Uh, Ron gave it to me."

Her mother couldn't stop gushing at the photo of Kim and Ron caught in an embrace from a Christmas ten years past. The nine year old pair grinned at the Possibles behind the camera. Their photographic smile far outshone the weak attempt on Kim's lips now. "Oh, Ron," the Possible matron said, "This almost makes p for all those years of Bueno Nacho Bucks—"

"Well, I don't mean to brag," began Ron. Then he stood and laughed. "Well, maybe just a little."

Another explosion rattled the windows of the house, and the garage's smoke detector started wailing in time with her men's terrified warbling. Missus Possible groaned into her hands. "I'd better go get the first aid kit."

"Ah," sighed Ron as the brainy Doctor Possible exited the kitchen on her way upstairs. "Christmas with the Possibles just isn't complete without the smell of iodine." He turned back from the kitchen's open door and propped his feet back up, lacing his fingers behind his head and letting his eyes flutter closed. "So, how cool am I," he asked his silent audience of one, "Wowing two babes with just one emptying of my bank account." When no one answered, he cracked an eye open. "KP?"

Instinct guided his fingers around the flat of a kitchen knife kept perfectly sharp by the masterful mother of the home. He stopped the blade's tip an inch from his eye, rocking back in his chair. His other arm pinwheeled to keep his seat upright. "Kim," he yelped, "What the freakin'—whoa!" Three more knives slapped into his hands, snatched from the air at impossible speed, but this time the effort did tip his chair. Ron rolled back from the spilled seat and rose with the knives poised to return to their previous owner. "What the hell?"

Kim held the last knife from the kitchen's empty holder, picking at the gunk beneath her nails with its deadly tip. "How long?" she asked, glaring at him.

"How long what?" demanded Ron. He marched over, waving the former projectiles with frenzied confusion. "How long have thrown knives hurtling at my head made me jumpy? Pretty much forever!"

"How long," repeated Kim with deadly calm, "Have you held out on me?"

"Held out what?" Despite almost being skewered, Ron had no worries about sidling up next to Kim to jam the knives back into the safety of their holder.

"This!" Kim slammed the final knife home, finally drawing a jump and a yap out of him. "You know what happens when someone throws knives at me when my eyes are closed? I die, Ron!" The locket at her throat bobbled with ire as she whirled on Ron, plunging a finger into his chest instead of a knife. "All this time, you've been able to do these amazing things, and you've totally been throwing our sparring matches."

Ron gaped at the fury pouring out of Kim's eyes, and weathered the green storm with a dinghy of disbelief. "That's your beef? That's why you threw pointy things at my head? Because I tanked a few practice matches?" He tapped her bandaged head. "They X-Rayed this, right?"

She tore his finger away and stalked across the kitchen. "You just…you're so…" Her shoulders fell as she hugged her arms, unable to ride her tidal wave of anger as it emptied as a trickle into a sea of regret. "You lied to me. You lied, Ron." Looking back, Kim flooded Ron with all manner of guilt as she added, "And I deserve to know why."

"Oh c'mon, KP." Ron tried desperately to laugh off the accusation, but the river of accusation pouring from Kim's shimmering eyes would not be navigated. "I just…I…uh…uh…uh…um."

A warm grasp enveloped his hands as he stared down at them, stammering in helplessness. He looked up into Kim's expectant gaze. The pout at her lips daunted him some, but she said, "Ron, please. Things have gotten so weird between us, and I don't want them to be. I need you, Ron. I need things to be normal between us again."

"But that's what I was trying to do, KP," he blurted without thinking. Both their eyes widened at the impromptu statement, his from horror and hers from shock. But the one comment opened a floodgate inside of him, one he was powerless to stop. "After…after I got back." He struggled with the stream-of-consciousness speech. "I learned so much in Japan. Yamanouchi," he amended with clenched eyes, recalling that keeping the secret no longer mattered. "For the first time in my life, I was actually good at something. I could finally help. Help you."

Choked with restrained tears, Kim said, "You must have worked really hard."

"Sunup to sundown," he joked without comedy. "Sometimes longer. I…I wanted to tell you so bad, Kim, but I just…I couldn't. Sensei made me swear…"

The new lie drew forth those tears Kim fought so hard to smother, which forced Ron's eyes to weep in sympathy. "You come back with some new moves." She sniffled. "The last thing to cross my mind is going to be 'Secret Ninja School,' Ron. Stop lying to me. Why have you been holding back?"

"I…" This was it. Ron could feel a climax six months in the making breathing down his neck, and he had just run out of places to hide from it. "It was the Global Justice thing."

"God, Ron!" she snapped tearily, jerking her hand away. "I thought we were past that! How long are you going to punish me—"

"It wasn't that," he shot back, losing his temper for that split second. Kim's outburst trailed off into muffled sniffles and dripping tears as she glared at him with demanding emerald fire. Her scowl melted as he said, "Afterward, I just…I wanted things to go back. Y'know, how it used to be. You were always the better fighter, Kim. Always. Until…And I just thought that if I changed anything else between us…"

Two and two made four. "You thought I couldn't handle it." Kim felt nausea boiling over in her stomach. She had to grab at the counter to keep her footing, refusing Ron's anxious hands as they tried to help her. "You thought I'd freak out," she croaked. "That I'd get jealous." A bitter little pill clung to the back of Kim's throat, where she tasted truth in all its revolting splendor. It took a good a great dose of humility to force that pill down, where she let it digest, spreading like cancer though her sickened system.

Ron swallowed a sob as he watched Kim turn away with revulsion dawning on her face. Her tears ceased at once, and he feared the expression germinating within her delicate features. "Kim," he pleaded, "I just didn't want—"

"We can't go back," said Kim, speaking in time with the revelation given to her by her own mind. She said again, "We can't go back to the way things were, Ron." Protest welled up in his throat, but the back of her head spoke with reproachful scorn, "All the lies and smiles in the world can't fix this." That one summer spent apart had sealed the fate of their friendship: A fourteen-year juggernaut, revealed to be nothing more than hollow, hot air, and popped by the pinprick of a three-month absence. Had they ever been as close as they thought? "We've both changed. And…And I…" Kim took a long, shuddering breath as she came to a decision. "I think we have to face facts."

"What? Kim, no!" Ron's sniveling grew desperate. He reached out for Kim, but an invisible wall of cold rebuffed his hands from her tensed shoulders. "We have major issues, but you can't—"

"We've grown apart." Kim's voice rang with finality that resonated all throughout the empty kitchen, yet overheard only by the Christmas turkey. "Slapping a patch over the problem won't fix it, Ron. It's over."

The words punched into the pit of Ron's stomach, doubling him over with a three-syllable knockout combination. It's. Wham. Oh. Wham. Ver. Ka-wham. Years and years of treasured friendship spiraled down the drain before his mind's eye. He felt the need to spray homemade eggnog across the floor, and then curl up into a ball and wait for this waking nightmare to end. Dry heaves worked up his windpipe, ready to grant him his first request when Kim spoke again;

"So we have to start over."

Down on his knees, Ron pulled his face from his hands and looked up. A tentative, hopeful face hovered over him and offered him a helping hand back to his feet. The warm grip kept him close, tingling against his calloused palms, as Kim gave him a weak smile. A world of questions spoke to him from deep within the gesture of her split lip, striking him silent for Kim's next words.

"Ron, I want to know the real you," she insisted. "All of you, not just some front you put up to make the world laugh." The fingers protruding from her cast grazed his cheek. Kim smiled when she felt Ron lean into her touch. "We need to spend some time together when the world isn't about to explode. Find out who we're becoming…Grow back together."

The notion made Ron's spirit soar back up from its guttural lows, and he gave Kim's healthy hand a squeeze before she pulled it away. "Spend all day doing nothing," he murmured, "And then stay up all night, talking about what we did all day? I've missed that."

"I have too," she said, and nodded. "It'll take time. And it starts now," Kim told him, digging through her pocket. "And it should start with me, apologizing." Her hand withdrew from her hip-hugger jeans, trailing with it a band of purple ribbon that ended with a dangling silver heart. The flattened five cents' worth of steel bobbed as she brought it up, parting the thin violet cord between her hands and offering it to Ron with cautious optimism. "I'm sorry," she said, "If I've ever made you feel like you can't be yourself around me."

Ron stared in awe at the cheap trinket, recognizing its pirouetting shape in an instant. "This is from your Pandaroo," he breathed with wide eyes.

Kim lifted the band and slipped it over his head, letting the metal metaphor bounce to rest over his red jersey. "Managed to grab it in the confusion after Mom's hospital freak-out," she admitted. The blurred reflection of her own nervousness hastened her clumsy words. "It was going to be a late Chanukah present, but…" Her gaze lifted from the necklace, and she felt relieved to see herself smiling in his eyes. "I think it makes a better 'Friendship Redux' gesture. I hope you like it."

The thin metal heart fiddled between his fingertips as he scrutinized her smile. His face became uncharacteristically thoughtful. Or perhaps not. Perhaps this new Ron looked before he leapt. Kim couldn't wait to find out. "That is so like you," he snorted. Her quizzical fright melted when he said, "You would have to one-up me in gifting, wouldn't you?"

"Let's call it 'as good,'" Kim suggested, smiling again as she lifted the golden heart at her neck.

"Thought we weren't going to lie anymore."

"Last one," she fibbed. "I promise." The two reached out and became one, drawn to one another's arms by an unspoken need to find unconditional acceptance in their embrace. Kim breathed in his musk through the fraying fabric of his ancient red jersey, oblivious to the thousands of aches his hug pulled from her dissenting body. She just wrapped her arms tighter and closed her eyes, resolved to never again let go or drive off this diamond in the rough. "Hi," she muttered into his pecs, "I'm Kim Possible. People tell me I'm pushy."

"The name's Ron Stoppable," he answered into the thick folds of her ginger hair. "I'm kind of a goofball."

Their moment didn't last. A derisive little chuckle teased them from above, shattering their perfect bubble. Looking in unison, Kim and Ron spied a blob of pink on the ceiling which jangled a green sprig over their heads. Another laugh drew their glance to the opposite side of the room, where Kim's family stood in voyeuristic delight of Kim and Ron's heartfelt scene. Jim and Tim, the obvious engineers of the intrusion, each clutched a spare sample of the dreaded Christmas weed.

"Ha, ha," Tim jeered, waving his mistletoe at them. "You know the rules."

Jim joined in while his parents laughed behind their hands. "Kimmie and Ronnie, sittin' in a tree..."

Kim ignored the taunts, including those from Rufus with his mistletoe above, and watched the chagrin unfolding in Ron's face. Another mask began forming around the subtle hints of his real reaction, which flashed too briefly for Kim to peg for certain. Humiliation? Discomfort? Desire? "Sorry, boys," Ron chuckled uneasily, putting some distance between himself and Kim. "I'm pretty sure there's some Jewish escape clause in Yuletide traditions."

Even as he spoke, Kim saw him turn to look directly at their twin tormentors. A double-layered defense; While he offered her a cheap, easy out, he lined up his cheek to give her a safe target as a safety net, evidence that she could no longer take for granted anything he said or did. She vowed to stop letting him sneak things past her, starting with that moment.

Yori's startling whisper danced through Kim's ears once more. She felt the warm lips of that kiss tingle on her cheek as she heard, _"The journey of a thousand miles need not be taken in leaps and bounds. Start your journey to him in small steps, but start it soon."_

Kim ended the chuckles and jeers, and the lame excuses coming from Ron, by laying a hand across his face and pulling it back to her. Their closeness she retook with a short step, pressing herself to him and raising herself onto her tiptoes. Ron's babbling trailed off in alarm before she brushed her lips against his. A startled breath signaled his impending escape, so she kept his place with her hand and quieted his protests with a silencing kiss.

The entire room froze, stunned. No noise interrupted the soft sound of their kiss. Rufus' shock pulled him from the ceiling and splattered him, mistletoe and all, next to their feet on the kitchen tile. As the kiss drew to a close, Kim unwillingly pulled back and dropped onto her heels. The floored expression on his face almost made ending the kiss worthwhile, and drew a titter out of Kim. When she saw the same expressions worn on the rest of her family, she shrugged, and said, "What? Mistletoe."

Oh, nasty," groaned Tim. He clutched at his stomach and made a great scene out of his disgust.

"Yeah, Jim moaned, "You weren't supposed to actually kiss him."

"Isn't that incest, or something?" Tim finished.

Kim gave Ron's astonished features a dazzling smile still in need of dental repair. "New beginning," she muttered. "Means new rules, right?"

"Ronald." The name escaped Mister Possible's clenched teeth and floated about the room on a wave of menace. He crossed his arms and adopted a dark scowl before beckoning the blond over with a finger. "Why don't you help me with the old Nog Generator? In the garage? Away from Kim."

Ron had no chance for protest as Jim and Tim grabbed him up by his arms and carried him away. A frantic glance shot over his shoulder back at Kim, who could only keep smiling as the Possible men absconded with him into the garage. The door slammed shut, sealing Ron's fate and leaving Kim to scrape his mole rat up from the floor.

The gentle laughter of her mother drew Kim's attention away from her task of molding Rufus back into shape. "So, Kimmie," the elder Possible said with a smirk. "You've had quite a week."

All the ups and downs of the week pummeled Kim's mind's eye. Even after the wounds healed and the scars faded, she knew she would never be the same. But then, nothing ever stayed the same. No one could change that. Not even Kim Possible. But that didn't mean she couldn't roll with it. 'And,' she mused, touching her lips, 'It doesn't mean that all change has to be bad.'

Kim gave Rufus a squeeze, and replied, "Well, you know how stressful the holidays can be."

**The End

* * *

**

_Author's Afterward_

I didn't want to write this.

Not at first, at any rate. When finishing The Power of Love, I had this great vision for what the third story, The Power of Friendship, would become. I wrote the last chapter to TPoF even before TPoL reached its twelfth chapter. It would be a long road, but a glorious finish. Simple, no? In practice; no. Instead, I trudged on through achingly difficult writing. Chapters that would normally be "no big" became teeth to pull from my writer's mouth, each one placed onto the net in a bloodied tissue in hopes of a visit from the Review Fairy to bolster my sparse enthusiasm. The thought of a single, super-cool scene pushed me on, a battle sequence toward the end that I knew would make the rest of the drudgery worthwhile.

Any reader can go back to the beginnings of this story and see the correlation between this story and its predecessor; an outsider coming in to meddle with the KP status quo, a world domination scheme, etc., etc. Somewhere in the early stages of development, I resigned myself to accepting that this story would follow the tired sequel model: sickeningly similar, and not nearly as good as the original. I have, I must say, never been so thankful to have been proven wrong. I think being proven wrong by myself lessens the sting, if only just.

As the story continued, I wanted to not only continue the TPoL correlation, but enhance it, but with a twist. In this sortie, Kim was the one dealing with feelings of replacement and abandonment. This time, Ron had to figure out just what it was he wanted, and what was really important to him. And Yori…wow. As Yori developed, I found myself loving her character more and more. Yori wrote herself. I just helped with the typing.

Simia, too, was something unplanned in the initial stages of the fic. Originally, Gorilla Fist would provide the villain for this story, becoming a warmed-over copy of his brother. When I saw a list of the unaired KP episodes (Gorilla Fist being among them), I went into conniptions, and began rethinking my strategy. A new villain needed to take center stage, though Gregory remained for misdirection. And thus, Takata Tsuruko, the lady Simia, was born. Simia became another character that grew on me as well as within me. She, unlike her other villainous KP counterparts, did not enjoy playing the game. She planned. She prepared. She plotted. And when the moment came, she wasn't about to fool around. Only when she became a supreme being did her character slip a bit, becoming too arrogant for her own good. But I don't need to tell you that, because you were there.

The one real heartbreak of this story, the one tiny detail that will haunt me every time I read it, is that super-cool scene I mentioned earlier. As the story drew to a close, I came to realize that I had inadvertently written it out, and no amount of devilish writing could put it back in. The scene called for a fight somewhere halfway across the globe from Yamanouchi, a final battle between our heroes and Simia and her dark forces, which would no longer include Ron (having been freed by the girls' loyalty, or something to that effect). While the girls battled a losing fight, Ron would grow angry and angrier still, until he closed his eyes and stuck out his hand. At that point, the scene would break, and relocate to halfway across the globe, illustrating the beginning of a long journey for the Lotus Blade.

That's right. Ron was going to summon it halfway across the world. In, like, ten minutes. The scene would also bring about a brief cameo from everyone's least favorite semi-regular, Will Du, on punishment detail for his monkey business (hee hee) in TPoL as a Command Monitor Station lackey. Will's part would involve the detection of a baseball bat sized object streaking across the Pacific Ocean at Mach 10, and at an altitude of roughly two meters.

It would have been cool.

But in the end, I like the way the story ended up. And a sorry to you K/R shippers, for our intrepid duo hasn't quite found love yet. They'll spend some time rekindling their friendship, this time as equals, and then we'll see what they make of it. Aside from another go-between story along the lines of AHTM, I won't be returning to the Power Trilogy until probably this fall. That final chapter is still a long way off, and plenty can happen in the meantime, which means I'd better get my act together. Thank you all for reading and reviewing, and as always, if there are any questions, or you just want to spark a discussion, don't hesitate to send an e-mail. Until then, I remain your ever-loving, ever-humble…

_Cyberwraith Nine_

_Ghost of the Darkness_

_and your Queen of Fanfiction_


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